The others rode on talking and laughing together,
and Luck rode with them; but the chant of the Omaha was in his ears and
tingling his nerves. And the vision of Annie-Many-Ponies standing straight
before her tent and making the sign of peace and farewell haunted him that
day.
Rosemary and Jean, standing in the porch, waved good-bye to their men folk
until the last bobbing hatcrown had gone down out of sight in the long, low
swale that creased the mesa in that direction. Whereupon they went into the
house.
"What in the world is the matter with Annie?" Jean exploded, with a little
shiver. "I'd rather hear a band of gray wolves tune up when you're caught out
in the breaks and have to ride in the dark. What is that caterwaul? Do you
suppose she's on the warpath or anything?"
"Oh, that's just the squaw coming out in her!" Rosemary slammed the door shut
so they could not hear so plainly. "She's getting more Injuny every day of her
life. I used to try and treat her like a white girl--but you just can't do it,
Jean."
"Hiu-hiu-hi-i-ah-h! Hiu-hiu-hi-i-ah-h-h--hiaaa-h-h!"
Jean stood in the middle of the room and listened. "Br-r-r!" she shivered--and
one could not blame her.
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