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So she stayed, and Rosemary hung up a calico curtain across the one bedroom, so that Annie-Many-Ponies might have a corner to call her own.
"Yoh theenk I lov' yoh so moch if yoh not good?" "You gets priest?" Annie-Many-Ponies persisted. "Sure, I gets padre. You theenk Ramon lies for soch theeng?" "You swear, then, all same white mans in picture makes oath." There was a new quality of inflexibility under the soft music of her voice.
Annie-Many-Ponies was Indian to the middle of her bone. Lite Avery, turning to look back as they galloped up a long slope so gradual in its rise that it seemed almost level, counted just fourteen Indians spreading out fanwise in pursuit. He turned to Applehead with the quiet deference in his manner that had won the old man's firm friendship.
Annie-Many-Ponies eyed him aslant and straightway placed the hottest, juiciest piece of steak on his plate, and poured his coffee even before she poured for old Dave Wiswell, whom she favored as being an old acquaintance of the Pine Ridge country.
I've been studying things over in my mind, and there's something in this affair I can't sabe. And until you've got some proof, the less you say about Annie-Many-Ponies the better I'll be pleased." That, coming from Luck in just that tone and with just that look in his eyes, was tantamount to an ultimatum, and it was received as one.
Applehead was going to drive the wagon, and she scowled when he yanked off the brake and cracked the whip over the team. Luck, feeling perchance the intensity of her gaze, turned in the saddle and looked back. The eyes of Annie-Many-Ponies softened and saddened, because this was the last time she would see Wagalexa Conka riding away to make pictures the last time she would see him.
His own voice was more crisply businesslike when he spoke again. "Annie-Many-Ponies back yet? She's not in on the split either. I'm paying her ten a week besides her board. That's good money for a squaw." He counted out the amount in ten dollar bills and snapped a rubber band around them. "Now here is the profit, boys, on your winter's work.
Luck felt nine pairs of eyes trying to read his face. "That's bad, you run away. You better go back, Annie-Many-Ponies. Your father " "Nah!" Annie-Many-Ponies cried in swift rebellion. "I work for you all time, I no want monies. I got plenty wardrobe; you give me plenty grub; I work for you. I think you need him Indian girl in picture. I think you plenty sorry all Indians go by reservation.
She was prone to fancy she heard Wagalexa Conka calling her, or Shunka Chistala barking in pursuit of the cat, or a hen cackling out in the weeds; whatever the sound, it invariably became a summons which Annie-Many-Ponies must instantly obey. Then she forgot to come back within the next two or three hours, and Rosemary must finish the dishes herself.
Personally Annie was fastidiously tidy, which Rosemary ungenerously set down to youthful vanity rather than to innate cleanliness. When it came to washing dishes, however, Annie-Many-Ponies left much to be desired. She was prone to disappear about the time she reached the biscuit-basin and the frying-pan stage of the thrice-daily performance.