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He was in his working clothes, picturesque if paint-daubed. The morning had been pleasant enough, but just before luncheon the rain clouds had gathered and settled down with that suddenness known only in high altitudes.
Gradually the girls drifted home to dress; the house grew quiet. Missy's head was aching. Flushed and paint-daubed, she bent over the "place-cards." Mother came to the door. "Hadn't you better be getting dressed, dear? it's half-past five." Half-past five! Heavens! Missy bent more feverishly over the "place-cards"; there were still two left to colour.
Bataille, without interrupting his lunch, occasionally gave an opinion, took the pencil to make a sketch of his idea, quoted examples, described all the aristocratic carriages in Normandy, and seemed to scatter an atmosphere of nobility all around him. He was a little man with thin gray hair and paint-daubed hands which smelt of oil.
His eyes, through a fringe of ha'r that has fallen over 'em, glows out like a cat's eyes in the dark. "We stands thar I still puffin my pipe, he with his lance raised an' we looks on each other I an' that paint-daubed buck! I can't say whatever is his notion of me, but on my side I never beholds a savage who appeals to me as a more evil an' forbiddin' picture!
For the silent rising of naked, paint-daubed Indians from out of the ground, the quick closing in of the cordon, similar to the turn of a lariat around a snubbing-post when a pony weakens for a moment, is calculated to shake the nerves of the strongest of Indian-fighters. In the breathing-space which the Apaches had given them Jack, who had resigned himself to die, took a new grip on life.
And "Whack! Whack!" The captain, sitting upon a cracker-box and peering out through the hole, was tossed from side to side. He could see the Indians very plainly. They were paint-daubed Kiowas, and well mounted armed with bows and lances and a couple of guns. Their striped faces grinned gleefully as their quirts rose and fell and their heels hammered their ponies' sides.
Standing before the open doorway was an easel with a half-finished Indian head on it. "Van Leshout's!" Ida Mary exclaimed. He came out, unshaven, and sweeping an old paint-daubed hat from his head with a low bow. "It's been years since I saw a human being," he exclaimed. "You'll want grub."
Seven war-canoes were launched and manned by paint-daubed, befeathered warriors. Long spears bristled from the rude battle-ships, as they slid noiselessly over the bosom of the water, propelled by giant muscles rolling beneath glistening, ebony hides.
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