d. Bud grunted and started on, and
the squaw stepped clear of the faintly defined trail to let him pass.
Moreover, she swung her shapeless body around so that she half faced him
as he passed. Bud's lips tightened, and he gave her only a glance. He
hated fat old squaws that were dirty and wore their hair straggling down
over their crafty, black eyes. They burlesqued womanhood in a way that
stirred always a smoldering resentment against them. This particular
squaw had nothing to commend her to his notice. She had a dirty red
bandanna tied over her dirty, matted hair and under her grimy double
chin. A grimy gray blanket was draped closely over her squat shoulders
and formed a pouch behind, wherein the plump form of a papoose was
cradled, a little red cap pulled down over its ears.

Bud strode on, his nose lifted at the odor of stale smoke that pervaded
the air as he passed. The squaw, giving him a furtive stare, turned and
started on, bent under her burden.

Then quite suddenly a wholly unexpected sound pursued Bud and halted him
in the trail; the high, insistent howl of a child that has been denied
its dearest desire of the moment. Bud looked back inquiringly. The squaw
was hurrying on, and but for the straightness of the trail just there,
her fat old canvas-wrapped legs would have carried her speedily out of
sight. Of course, papooses did yell once in awhile, Bud supposed, though
he did not remember ever hearing one howl like that on the trail. But
what made the squaw in such a deuce of a hurry all at once?

Bud's theory of her kind was simple enough: If they fled from you, it
was because they had stolen something and were afraid you would catch
them at it. He swung around forthwith in the trail and went after
her--whereat she waddled faster through the snow like a frightened duck.

"Hey! You come back here a minute! What's all the rush?" Bud's voice and
his long legs pursued, and presently he overtook her and halted her by
the simple expedient of grasping her shoulder firmly. The high-keyed
howling ceased as suddenly as it had begun, and Bud, peering under
the rolled edge of the red stocking cap, felt his jaw go slack with
surprise.

The baby was smiling at him delightedly, with a quirk of the lips and
a twinkle lodged deep somewhere in its eyes. It worked one hand free of
its odorous wrappings, spread four fat fingers wide apart over one eye,
and chirped, "Pik-k?" and chuckled infectiously deep in its throat.

Bu