" She was speaking in a torrent of
trepidation lest he break from her and do some violence which
they would all regret. She did not know what he could do, or
would do, but the look of his face frightened her.
Old Hagar spat viciously at them both, and shrilled vituperative
sentences--in her own tongue fortunately; else the things she
said must have brought swift retribution. And as if she did not
care for consequences and wanted to make her words carry a
definite sting, she stopped, grinned maliciously, and spoke the
choppy dialect of her tribe.
"Yo' tellum me shont-isham. Mebbyso yo' tellum yo' no ketchum
Squaw-talk-far-off in sagebrush, all time Saunders go dead! Me
ketchum hair--Squaw-talk-far-off hair. You like for see, you
thinkum me tell lies?"
From under her blanket she thrust forth a greasy brown hand, and
shook triumphantly before them a tangled wisp of woman's
hair--the hair of Miss Georgie, without a doubt. There was no
gainsaying that color and texture.
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