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.
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