art was yearning
toward that far away mesa. "Wagalexa Conka--cola!" she whispered, for
"cola" is the Sioux word for friend. Aloud she dared not speak the
word, lest some tricksy breeze carry it to him and fill him with; anger
because she had betrayed his friendship. "Wagalexa Conka--cola! cola!"

Friendship that was dead--but she yearned for it the more. And it seemed
to her as she whispered, that Wagalexa Conka was very, very near. Her
heart felt his nearness, and her eyes softened. The Indian look--the
look of her fighting forefathers--drifted slowly from her face as fog,
drifts away before the sun. He was near--perhaps he was dead and
his spirit had come to take her spirit by the hand and call her
cola--friend. If that were so, then she wished that her spirit might go
with his spirit, up through all that limitless blue, away and away
and away, and never stop, and never tire and never feel anything but
friendship like warm, bright sunshine!

Down at the cabin a sound--a cry, a shout--startled her. She brushed her
hand across her eyes and looked down. There, surrounding the cabin, were
the Happy Family, and old Applehead whom she hated because he hated her.
And in their midst stood Bill Holmes and Luis, and the setting sun shone
on something bright--like great silver rings--that clasped their wrists.

Coming up the hill toward her was Wagalexa Conka, climbing swiftly,
looking up as he came. Annie-Many-Ponies sprang to her feet, startling
the little black dog that gave a yelp of astonishment. Came he in peace?
She hesitated, watching him unwinkingly. Something swelled in her chest
until she could hardly breathe, and then fluttered there like a prisoned
bird. "COLA!" she gasped, just under her breath, and raised her hand in
the outward, sweeping gesture that spoke peace.

"You theenk to fix trap, you--!"

She whirled and faced Ramon, whose eyes blazed bate and murder and whose
tongue spoke the foulness of his soul. He flung out his arm fiercely and
thrust her aside. "Me, I kill that dam--"

He did not say any more, and the six-shooter he had levelled at Luck
dropped from his nerveless hand like a coiled adder, Annie-Many-Ponies
had struck. Like an avenging spirit she pulled the knife free and held
it high over her head, facing Luck who stared up at her from below.
He thought the look in her eyes was fear of him and of the law, and he
lifted his hand and gave back the peace-sign. It was for him she had
killed and sh