The Talking Leaves: An Indian Story

by William O. Stoddard

A few sharp words from one of the old men had started them, and they were indeed hurrying. They knew there was a good deal of bad temper up in the village just then, and there was no telling who might be made to suffer for it. The last squaw to get home would be very likely to meet a cross husband, and Indian husbands are not pleasant company when anything has made them cross.

The two girls hurried with the rest, and Dolores had very little to say to them.

It was now Ni-ha-be's turn to notice something of a change. Not in herself, but in Dolores. She had been accustomed to feel that whatever difference was made between Rita and herself was in her own favor. She felt that it was right it should be so, much as she loved her adopted sister, for after all it was a great advantage to be every bit an Apache. She was often sorry for Rita, but she could not help her having been born white.

Now, however, although it required all her keenness to detect it, there seemed to be something of unusual respect in the voice and manner of Dolores whenever she spoke to Rita. A touch of special kindness came with it. Not a sign of harshness showed itself all the way to the lodge, although Dolores had one or two pretty sharp things to say to Ni-ha-be. The Mexican darkness of the chief's "great cook" had helped everybody to almost forget her origin, but the thought of it came slowly into Ni-ha-be's mind.

"She read one of the talking leaves herself. It made her shut her eyes and kneel down. Send Warning talked with her. She is as bad as Rita. She is not an Apache at heart."

That was hardly fair to Mother Dolores, for it was only too true that, as Murray said of her, "she was completely Indianized." Even now she was not thinking of herself as a pale-face, or longing to be anything else than the "cook squaw" of the mighty war-chief Many Bears. No; she was not thinking of herself, but a great cloud was gathering in her mind, and she felt that it all belonged in some way to Rita.

She did not speak of it, but she felt a good deal more comfortable after the two girls were safe behind the skin cover of their own lodge.

"Great chief not go on war-path. Better not see young squaws just now. He will send for the talking leaves in the morning. Send Warning will read them to him. He did not look so old to-night. He was a very handsome man when he was young. So long ago!"

Ni-ha-be had been right about her father's appetite, for it was only a few minutes before he came stalking toward the camp-fire for some venison-steak, and Dolores had been wise enough to have it on the coals, so as not to keep him waiting.

He never dreamed of telling her, nor she of asking him, anything about the events of the night or the plans of the warriors, but all the while that steak was broiling she was thinking of Send Warning rather than of Many Bears, and wondering if there would be another fight with the Lipans before sunrise. That was the very question asked of Murray by the chief in command of their squad half an hour or so later.