"Ah, now you spik
foolish talk. Yoh not trus' Ramon! Why yoh talk pries', pries' all time? Lov',
she's plenty pries' for us. Pries' she don' make us more lov' each other--
pries' don' make us happy--we like birds that make nes' in tree-tops. Yoh
think they mus' have pries' for help them be happy? Lov'--that's plenty for
me."
Annie-Many-Ponies drew herself away from his embrace, but she did it gently.
Bill Holmes, coming up from the spring, furnished excuse enough, and Ramon let
her go.
"You promise me priest for making us marriage," she persisted in her soft
voice.
Ramon twisted the points of his black mustache and regarded her askance,
smiling crookedly. "Yoh 'fraid for trus' me, that's why I promise," he said at
last. "Me, I don' need padre to mumble-mumble foolish words before I can be
happy. Yoh 'fraid of Luck Leen'sey, that's why I promise. Now yoh come way up
here, so luck don' matter no more. Yoh be happy weeth me."
"You promise," Annie-Many-Ponies repeated, a sullen note creeping into her
voice.
Bill Holmes, lounging up to the doorway, glanced from one to the other and
laughed. "What's the matter, Ramon?" he bantered. "Can't you square it with
your squaw? Go after her with a club, why don't you? That's what they're used
to.
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