and stood erect with arms folded, evidently waiting for treatment.

"The process will be going on all the while you're associating with
me, honey. That chief, Red Feather--he has a daughter, hasn't he?"

"No; him say no girl, no boy." She spoke with confidence.

"I see. And your father's dead too, eh?" Evidently Red Feather
had thoroughly convinced her of the truth of these pretenses.

"Both--mother, father. Nobody but me." She knelt down at his side,
her face troubled. "If I had just one!"

"Can you remember either of them?"

"Oh, yes, yes--and Red Feather, him talk about them, talk, talk,
always say me be white with the white people some day. This is the
day. You make me like mother was. You civilize me--begin!" She
regarded him with dignified attention, her little hands locked about
her blanket where it lay folded below her knees. The cloud had
vanished from her face and her eyes sparkled with expectancy.

"I ain't got the tools yet, honey. They's no breaking up and
enriching land that ain't never bore nothing but buffalo-grass,
without I have picks and spades and plows and harrers. I got to get
my tools, to begin."

She stiffened herself. "You needn't be afraid I'll cry. I WANT
you to hurt me, if that the way."