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When at last they left she laid a hand upon the doctor's arm and said, imploringly: "You won't forget. You promise?" "I promise," he told her. "He don't forget nothing," Bill assured her, "and if he does I'll see that he don't." After they had gone Ponatah stood motionless for a long time, then she whispered, breathlessly: "Children! Little white children! I'll be very good to them."
I thought I'd tell you the story, so if you ever meet up with this shave-tail preacher and he wants a headache pill you can slip him some sugar-coated arsenic." In the days immediately following Doctor Thomas's arrival at Nome he was a busy man, but he did not forget Ponatah.
It may have been the memory of that heavy whip handle, it may have been the moral effect of stray biographical bits garnered here and there around the gambling-table, or it may have been merely a high and natural chivalry, totally unsuspected until now, which prompted Petersen to treat Ponatah with a chill and formal courtesy when he returned from St. Michaels.
The story of the tragedy was still the sensation of Nome when, a fortnight later, Laughing Bill Hyde showed up in town with the cheerful announcement that he had been fired. Ponatah was at the cabin when he arrived, and she did not try to conceal her joy at seeing him again. "I've been so unhappy," she told him. "You've never been out of my thoughts, Billy."
He slams the devil around something shameful, and Ponatah thinks he's a square guy if ever they come square, so she asks him to re-locate her claim, on shares, and hold it for the joint account. Old Doctor M.E. Church agrees to split fifty-fifty, half to her and half to heaven, then he vamps to Nome and chalks his monaker over the Kid's.
After an awkward moment the physician queried, "How in the world did you learn to speak such good English?" "A missionary took an interest in me when I was a little girl. He sent me to Carlisle." Laughing Bill had been an attentive listener, now he ventured to say: "I know this Carlisle. He's a swell football player, or something." Ponatah smiled, showing a row of small, white teeth.
"You bet your gum boots Aye bring her. She's svell, ant she, Bill? She's yust some svell like white voman." "Who's this?" queried one of Petersen's companions. "Ponatah. She's jung sqvaw. Aye got eyes on dat chicken long tam now." The burly mail-man laughed loudly and slapped his friend on the shoulder. Mr. Hyde appeared to share in the general good nature.
He had been assured that the work was light, and so it was, but it was also continuous. He could summon not the slightest interest in it until he discovered that this was the very claim which rightfully belonged to Ponatah. Then, indeed, he pricked up his ears.
"No wonder those men robbed him. I wish they had taken all his gold, and escaped." "You're pretty sore on his heavenly nibs, ain't you?" Ponatah clenched her hands and her eyes blazed. "Well, you got this consolation, the Aurora ain't as rich as it was." "It would have been rich enough for us." "Us?" "Yes. You'd marry me if I were rich, wouldn't you?" "No, I wouldn't," Bill declared, firmly.
I want you to know her and I want her to see that I cured you, after all." "I'd admire to meet her, but my taste has allus run more to brunettes," said Mr. Hyde. Then, since he abhorred emotional display, he continued, briskly: "Now call the dog. I'm off to buy our duckets." Laughing Bill purchased three tickets instead of two, then he went in search of Ponatah.
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