noticed my outside as a man ought. Won't you make your home with
me, child?" He held out his rough hand appealingly.

She retreated farther, saying with disapproval, "Much hair!"

Willock laid his hand on his breast, returning, "Much heart!"

"Him white," said the Indian, swinging himself upon his horse. "Him
save your life. Sometime me come visit, come eat, come stay with
you."

As he wheeled about, she held out her arms toward him, crying
wildly, "Don't go! Don't leave me! Him much hair!"

The Indian dashed away without turning his head.

"Good lord, honey," exclaimed Willock, at his wits' ends, "don't
cry! I can't do nothing if you CRY. Won't you come look at your
new home?" He waved eagerly toward the dugout.

"Hole in the ground!" cried the girl desperately. "I want my tepee.
Am I a prairie-dog?"

"No, honey, you ain't. You and me is both white, and we ought to
live together; it ain't right for you to live with red people that
kills and burns your own kith and kin."

She looked at him repellently through her streaming tears. "Big
hair!" she cried. "Big hair!"