Yo'
go, speakum Squaw-talk-far-off. Bueno, dat squaw. Heap smart,
all same mans. Yo' go. Pikeway." He settled back with a
gesture of finality, and so Good Indian left him.
Old Hagar shrilled maledictions after him when he passed through
the littered camp on his way back to where he had left his horse,
but for once he was deaf to her upbraidings. Indeed, he never
heard her--or if he did, her clamor was to him as the yelping of
the dogs which filled his ears, but did not enter his thoughts.
The young squaw smiled at him shy-eyed as he went by her, and
though his physical eyes saw her standing demurely there in the
shade of her wikiup, ready to shrink coyly away from too bold a
glance, the man-mind of him was blind and took no notice. He
neither heard the baffled screaming of vile epithets when old
Hagar knew that her venom could not strike through the armor of
his preoccupation, nor saw the hurt look creep into the soft eyes
of the young squaw when his face did not turn toward her after
the first inattentive glance.
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