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Updated: May 9, 2025
"An old man, you say?" "But he hunts the white buffalo. Only the daughters are there." "Are they young?" "Young and sleek. One is called The Plow-Woman. She is tall, and she watches like the antelope. The younger has hair like the grass when it is withered." "They live alone?" "The Squaw guards " "Wuff!" "And The Man-who-buys-Skins. May he be struck by the zigzag fire!"
"By The Plow-Woman?" he asked. "By her father. I shall stay until that land is mine again. One of you must ask your chief that he give up the pale-face squaws." Canada John answered him. "A brave can but take the words of the white chief. That is not well. One of a double tongue must go." "The white chief has but one," said Matthews, and tapped his own chest. A silence followed.
For months the outcast whose loyalty The Plow-Woman boasted, had been slipping from his old-time fealty to her, made false by his dream of winning back his rank. In a moment he had seen his chance for honour wiped out. Before him again there lay only woman's work, curses, beatings, and a life with the dogs even worse: to see her whom he coveted going to Standing Buffalo!
Remember, if you are discovered trying to escape, I know nothing of it. Then, I shall try another plan. And keep everything from The Squaw. He is a friend to the pony soldiers. He may tattle." "And your reward," said Canada John, softly: "It is that The Plow-Woman and her sister shall be " Matthews put a finger to his lips. "You will free my land," he said.
They were free, and crazy with their freedom. He matched his strength with theirs; dared where they faltered; won won But there was no hope for The Plow-Woman! He was back on the other trail, and it led to the gallery where Oliver's hammock swung. The outcast made swift motions with his hands. He was hustled along with the guard. The sliding-panel opened.
The woman also leaned forward, and looked Dallas up and down, searchingly, coldly. Her lips were set in a sneer. Her eyes frowned. Then, the ambulance bowled smartly along, the driver catching at a leader with his whip. "Who's that, Mrs. Cummings?" The women in the rear of the vehicle were peering out. Mrs. Cummings answered over her shoulder. "Why, it's The Plow-Woman."
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