front of him, as she did, or let his younger brother and sister cling
on behind her; so that the little mule was turned into a sort of
four-footed omnibus.

It did seem, too, as if there were more and more wretched-looking dogs
following after that forlorn mule than behind the ponies of any chief's
family in the whole band.

"Look, Rita," said Ni-ha-be--"look at old Too Many Toes and her mule!"

That squaw had a name of her own, as well as anybody, but it had not
been given her for her beauty.

"Isn't she homely?" said Rita. "I wonder where the rest of her
children are?"

"I guess she's divided them around among her relations. There's enough
of them to load another mule. Her husband'll never be rich enough to
buy ponies. He's lazy."

"He doesn't beat her?"

"He's too lazy for that. And he's afraid of her. I don't believe he's
an Apache. Think of a brave afraid of his own squaw!"

There was something very bad in that, according to all Indian notions;
but Rita only said,

"What would that mule do if she wanted him to run?"

Just then the shrill voice of Mother Dolores behind them shouted,

"I'm coming. They wanted to make me help them pack!"

The pride of the best cook in the band was seriously offended. As if
all such hard work did not properly belong to ugly and ignorant squaws
who had not education enough to fry corn-bread for the great chief!
She knew her dignity better than that, and she meant to assert it.
Perhaps if Many Bears himself had been close at hand, Dolores might
have been more willing to work, but there was no opportunity for any
appeal to him, and she took her own way.

She was all the more willing that her two charges should ride on to the
very head of the little column, and even keep away a short distance to
the right of it. They were perfectly safe within whooping distance if
they were wanted, and none of the other squaws of Many Bears would dare
to leave their ponies and baggage to come and scold. That was worth
something.

Silent and submissive as are all Indian women in the presence of braves
or of white men, they make up for it all in the use they make of their
tongues among themselves. They can talk wonderfully fast and say as
many sharp things as may be necessary.

"Now, Rita, see if you can make the leaves tell you anything about
Knotted Cord."

"He isn't in them; nor Send Warning either."

"Look. They must be there."

Neither Steve Harrison nor Murray were