"She's different; any fool knows that."
"Well, I've got a six-gun here that'll talk for another one," silent Lite
Avery spoke up suddenly. "One that would tip the scales on the woman's side
for goodness if the rest of the whole sex was bad."
"Oh, thunder!" Pink cried, somewhat redder than the climbing sun alone would
warrant. "I'll take it back. I didn't mean THEM--you know darned well I didn't
mean them--nor lots of other women I know. What I meant was--"
"What you meant was Annie," Luck broke in uncompromisingly. "And I'm not
condemning her just because things look black. You don't know Indians the way
I know them. There's some things an Indian will do, and then again there's
some things they won't do. You boys don't know it--but yesterday morning when
we left the ranch, Annie-Many-Ponies made me the peace-sign. And after that
she went into her tent and began to sing the Omaha. It didn't mean anything to
you--Old Dave is the only one that would have sabed, and he wasn't there. But
it meant enough to me that I came pretty near riding back to have a pow-wow
with Annie, even if we were late. I wish I had. I'd have less on my conscience
right now."
"Fur's I kin see," Applehead dissented impatiently, "you ain't got no call to
have nothin' on your conscience where that thar squaw is concerned.
Pages:
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154