that she had not
acted like that when luck was home. She had stayed on the ranch where
she belonged, except once or twice, on particularly fine days, when she
had meekly asked "Wagalexa Conka," as she persisted in calling Luck, for
permission to go for a ride.

Applehead itched to tell her a few things about the social, moral,
intellectual and economic status of an "Injun squaw"--but there was
something in her eye, something in the quiver of her finely shaped
nostrils, in the straight black brows, that held his tongue quiet when
he met her face to face. You couldn't tell about these squaws. Even
luck, who knew Indians better than most--and was, in a heathenish tribal
way, the adopted son of Old Chief Big Turkey, and therefore Annie's
brother by adoption--even Luck maintained that Annie-Many-Ponies
undoubtedly carried a knife concealed in her clothes and would use it if
ever the need arose. Applehead was not afraid of Annie's knife. It was
something else, something he could not put into words, that held him
back from open upbraidings.

He gave Andy's wife, Rosemary, the mail and stopped to sympathize with
her because Annie-Many-Ponies had gone away and left the hardest part of
the ironing undone. Luck had told Annie to help Rosemary with the work;
but Annie's help, when Luck was not around the place, was, Rosemary
asserted, purely theoretical.

"And from all you read about Indians," Rosemary complained with a pretty
wrinkling of her brows, "you'd think the women just LIVE for the sake
of working. I've lost all faith in history, Mr. Furrman. I don't believe
squaws ever do anything if they can help it. Before she went off riding
today, for instance, that girl spent a whole HOUR brushing her hair and
braiding it. And I do believe she GREASES it to make it shine the way
it does! And the powder she piles on her face--just to ride out on
the mesa!" Rosemary Green was naturally sweet-tempered and exceedingly
charitable in her judgements; but here, too, the cat-and-dog feud had
its influence. Rosemary Green was a loyal champion of the cat Compadre;
besides, there was a succession of little irritations, in the way of
dishes left unwashed and inconspicuous corners left unswept, to warp her
opinion of Annie-Many-Ponies.

When he left Rosemary he went straight down to where the chuck-wagon
stood, and began to tap the tires with a small rock to see if they would
need resetting before he started out. He decided that the brake-bloc