mportant woman had been using her
own eyes all that time. She had seen as much as had either of them,
and she was close to them at that moment.

"Young squaws go back to lodge right away. See? All squaws go in a
hurry."

A few sharp words from one of the old men had started them, and they
were indeed hurrying. They knew there was a good deal of bad temper up
in the village just then, and there was no telling who might be made to
suffer for it. The last squaw to get home would be very likely to meet
a cross husband, and Indian husbands are not pleasant company when
anything has made them cross.

The two girls hurried with the rest, and Dolores had very little to say
to them.

It was now Ni-ha-be's turn to notice something of a change. Not in
herself, but in Dolores. She had been accustomed to feel that whatever
difference was made between Rita and herself was in her own favor. She
felt that it was right it should be so, much as she loved her adopted
sister, for after all it was a great advantage to be every bit an
Apache. She was often sorry for Rita, but she could not help her
having been born white.

Now, however, although it required all her keenness to detect it, there
seemed to be something of unusual respect in the voice and manner of
Dolores whenever she spoke to Rita. A touch of special kindness came
with it. Not a sign of harshness showed itself all the way to the
lodge, although Dolores had one or two pretty sharp things to say to
Ni-ha-be. The Mexican darkness of the chief's "great cook" had helped
everybody to almost forget her origin, but the thought of it came
slowly into Ni-ha-be's mind.

"She read one of the talking leaves herself. It made her shut her eyes
and kneel down. Send Warning talked with her. She is as bad as Rita.
She is not an Apache at heart."

That was hardly fair to Mother Dolores, for it was only too true that,
as Murray said of her, "she was completely Indianized." Even now she
was not thinking of herself as a pale-face, or longing to be anything
else than the "cook squaw" of the mighty war-chief Many Bears. No; she
was not thinking of herself, but a great cloud was gathering in her
mind, and she felt that it all belonged in some way to Rita.

She did not speak of it, but she felt a good deal more comfortable
after the two girls were safe behind the skin cover of their own lodge.

"Great chief not go on war-path. Better not see young squaws just now.
He will