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"Let him shake a little. Cure his hot mad maybe." "White man get sick with cold," persisted Bela. "Not lak us. What good my waitin', if he get sick?" Musq'oosis held up both his hands. "There is not'ing lak a woman!" he cried. "Go to your mot'er. I will paddle by the lake and give him a rabbit robe." Bela's eyes flashed a warm look on him. She got up without speaking, and hastened away.
"All right," agreed Bela. "Now go see your mot'er," commanded Musq'oosis. "She sicken for you. She is white, too." Bela, however, made no move to go. She was painstakingly plucking blades of grass. "Well, wa't you waitin' for?" demanded Musq'oosis. "Sam walkin' this way," she said with an inscrutable face. "Got no blanket. Be cold to-night, I think." "Wa! More foolishness!" he cried.
My fat'er is fall in the river and go down the big falls. "They say that. But I know the truth. Ahcunza is a friend of Watusk. Watusk give him his vest with goldwork after. My fat'er is dead. I am lak wood then. My mot'er sell me to Watusk. I not care for not'ing." "Your mother, sell you!" murmured Ambrose. "My mot'er not lak me ver' moch," said Nesis simply. "She mad for cause I got white blood.
She mad for cause my fat'er all tam talk with me." "Three years ago!" said Ambrose. "You must have been a little girl then!" "I fourteen year old then. My mot'er got 'not'er osban' now. Common man. They gone with Buffalo Lake people. I not care. All tam I think of my fat'er. He is one fine man. "Las' summer the priest come here. Mak' good talk, him. Say if we good, bam-by we see the dead again.
"You got fat'er, mot'er out there, Sam?" she asked. He shook his head. "Both dead." "You got no people 'tall?" she asked, quick with sympathy. "Brothers," he said grimly. "Three of them. They don't think much of me." One question followed another, and the time flew by. They were making famous progress now. They ate.
"Thee mot'er of thees black fel'r you know, thot's thee mot'er she's gettin' old all time. She's soon dyin', thot caballo. Thees black horse he's makin' a fine one in thees wagon." Franke said nothing. Nor did Felipe speak again. And thus, in silence, they continued across the mesa and on up the canyon to the little adobe in the settlement.
"That is not easy," he observed with a judicial air. "Not easy when there are white women after them. They know too moch for you. Get ahead of you." "I am a handsome girl," said Bela calmly. "You have say it. You tell me white men crazy for handsome girls." "It is the truth," returned Musq'oosis readily. "But not for marry." "My fat'er marry my mot'er," persisted Bela.
"Listen!" he went on more rapidly, as if to forestall objection. "You are scholar, too, a little. You know how Nature vorks, how men aid her in her business. Man puts t'e mot'er of vinegar into sweet cider and it is vinegar. T'e fermenting germs of t'e brewery chemist go in vit' vater and hops and malt, and t'ere is beer.
"Have you any sisters outside, 'Erbe't?" she gently persisted. "No," he said. "Your mot'er, she is not dead?" "No." "She mos' be ver' nice, I think." "She's a lady!" he blurted out. Rina nodded wisely. "I know what that is," she said. "A lady is a ver' nice woman." Her voice dropped very low.
Garth glanced at the suffering Natalie with contracted brows. "That's all very well!" he said bitterly. "But it can't undo what's done!" "I can mak' her well, maybe," said Rina, still affecting indifference. "I know what to do. My mot'er, she teach me. If you let me look at her, I tell you." A wild hope sprang up in Garth's breast.
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