He was in the doorway, now. "W'y," he cried, "here's thet fool Norwegian
goin' t' th' landin'. Wal, he is pritty shy on sand!"

"We'll be killed if the Indians come, Dallas." It was Marylyn,
whispering up fearfully to her sister.

"We'll be careful, honey. Keep away from the coulee after this. Walk
toward Brannon, always."

Dallas spent the afternoon out of doors, where everything spoke of
peace. Not even a hand's breadth of cloud floated upon the sky. The air
was warm, and fragrant with the new growth. Magpies chattered by. The
bobolinks sent up their hearty song.

When she left off work, she saw the settler from the "little bend" drive
by with his wife and children. Going home, she found her father cleaning
and caressing the Sharps. But in her ability to sense danger, as in her
love of the gloaming, Dallas was like a wild thing. And she felt not the
slightest disquiet.

CHAPTER XIX

AL BRADEN OF SIOUX FALLS

Midway of the even, broad expanse between shack and gap stood an A-tent,
very new, very white, and very generous in dimension. Like a giant
mushroom, it had cropped forth during the night. About it stretched the
untouched prairie, all purpling over with morning-glories.

The tent opened toward the river, and was flanked on one side by a pile
of short pickets, their tops dipped the colour of the canvas, their
bases nicely sharpened for the plotting out of ground. Near by, thrown
flat, was a wide board sign, which read, in staring blue letters:

"AL BRADEN, REAL ESTATE."

It was well on toward noon before the tent showed life. Then there
emerged from it a bulky man of middle age, who dusted at his high boots
as he came, stretched, drawing his long coat snug, and settled an
elaborate vest. He completed his costume by donning a black hat that was
of wool, and floppy. Then, thumbs tucked in armholes, he strolled away
toward the Lancasters'.

The section-boss and his daughters were lined up on the warm side of the
lean-to, shading their faces from the sun. When the comer was so near
that they could see he was strange to them, Lancaster gave a peremptory
wag of the head, and the two girls disappeared around a corner. Their
father stayed on watch, his jaws working nervously with the ever-present
chew.

The burly man advanced upon the lean-to. "Mornin', mornin'," was his
greeting. He made several swinging bows at Lancaster, and took him in
shrewdly from eyes that were round and close-set.

Th