were, or what you may be, but from what I see of you you've got all the
sabe of a frontierman's wife."

She stopped and looked at him, and then with an impulse of imprudence
that only half concealed a more serious vanity, asked, "Do you think I
might have made a good squaw?"

"I don't know," he replied quietly. "I never saw enough of them to
know."

Teresa, confident from his clear eyes that he spoke the truth, but
having nothing ready to follow this calm disposal of her curiosity,
relapsed into silence.

The meal finished, Teresa washed their scant table equipage in a little
spring near the camp-fire; where, catching sight of her disordered dress
and collar, she rapidly threw her shawl, after the national fashion,
over her shoulder and pinned it quickly. Low cached the remaining
provisions and the few cooking utensils under the dead embers and ashes,
obliterating all superficial indication of their camp-fire as deftly and
artistically as he had before.

"There isn't the ghost of a chance," he said in explanation, "that
anybody but you or I will set foot here before we come back to supper,
but it's well to be on guard. I'll take you back to the cabin now,
though I bet you could find your way there as well as I can."

On their way back Teresa ran ahead of her companion, and plucking a few
tiny leaves from a hidden oasis in the bark-strewn trail brought them to
him.