Me Smith

other side.”
    “You buy de wet horse?”
    “No, by Gawd,—I wet ’em!”
    “Why you steal?”
    He looked at her contemptuously.
    “Why does anybody steal? I need the dinero—me, Smith.”
    “You want money?”
    He laughed.
    “I always want money. I never had enough but once in my life, and then I had too much. Gold is hell to pack,” he added reminiscently.
    “I have de fine hay-ranch, white man, de best on de reservation. Two, four t’ousand dollars I have when de hay is sold. De ranch is big”—her arms swept the horizon to show its extent. “You stay here and make de bargain with de cattlemen, and I give you so much”—she measured a third of her hand with her forefinger. “If dat is not enough, I give you so much”—she measured the half of her hand with her forefinger. “If dat not enough, I give you all.” She swept the palm of one hand with the other.
    Smith dropped his eyelids, that she might not see the triumph shining beneath them.
    “I must think, Prairie Flower.”
    “No, white man, you no think. You stay!”
    Smith, who had arisen, slipped his arm about her ample waist. She pulled aside his Mackinaw coat and laid her head upon his breast.
    “The white man’s heart is strong,” she said softly.
    “It beats for you, Little Fawn;” and he ran out his tongue in derision.
    All the morning she sat on the floor at his feet, braiding the rags for her mat, content to hear him speak occasionally, and to look often into his face with dog-like devotion. It was there Susie saw her when she returned from school earlier in the afternoon than usual, and was beckoned into the kitchen by Ling.
    “He’s makin’ a mash,” said Ling laconically, as he jerked his thumb toward the open door of the living-room.
    All the girlish vivacity seemed to go out of Susie’s face in her first swift glance. It hardened in mingled shame and anger.
    “Mother,” she said sharply, “you promised me that you wouldn’t sit on the floor like an Injun.”
    “We’re gettin’ sociable,” said Smith mockingly.
    The woman glanced at Smith, and hesitated, but finally got up and seated herself on the bench.
    “Why don’t you try bein’ ’sociable’ with the Schoolmarm?” Susie sneered.
    “Maybe I will.”
    “And maybe you won’t get passed up like a white chip!”
    “Oh, I dunno. I’ve made some winnings.”
    “I can tell that by your eyes. You got ’em bloodshot, I reckon, hangin’ over the fire in squaw camps. White men can’t stand smoke like Injuns.”
    This needle-tongued girl jabbed the truth into him in a way which maddened him, but he said conciliatingly:
    “We don’t want to quarrel, kid.”
    “You mean you don’t.” Susie slammed the door behind her.
    The child’s taunt reawakened his interest in the Schoolmarm. He thought of her riding home alone, and grew restless. Besides, the dulness began to bore him.
    “I’ll saddle up, Prairie Flower, and look over the ranch. When I come back I’ll let you know if it’s worth my while to stay.”
    Tubbs was sitting on the wagon-tongue, mending harness, when Smith went out,
    “Aimin’ to quit the flat?” inquired Tubbs.
    “Feller, didn’t that habit of askin’ questions ever git you in trouble?”
    “Well I guess so ,” Tubbs replied candidly. “See that scar under my eye?”
    “I’d invite you along to tell me about it,” said Smith sardonically, “only, the fact is, feller, I’m goin’ down the road to make medicine with the Schoolmarm.”
    Tubbs’s eyes widened.
    “Gosh!” he ejaculated enviously. “I wisht I had your gall.”
    Before Smith swung into the saddle he pulled out a heavy silver watch attached to a hair watch-chain.
    “Just the right time,” he nodded.
    “Huh?”
    “I say, if it was only two o’clock, or three, I wouldn’t go.”
    “You wouldn’t? I’ll tell you about me: I’d go if it was twelve o’clock at night and twenty below zero to ride home with that lady.”
    “Feller,” said Smith, in a paternal tone, “you never want to make a break at a woman before four o’clock in the afternoon. You might just as well go and lay down under a bush in the shade from a little after daylight until about this time. You wouldn’t hunt deer or elk in the middle of the day, would you? No, nor women—all same kind of huntin’. They’ll turn you down sure; white or red—no difference.”
    “Is that so?” said Tubbs, in the awed voice of one who sits at the feet of a master.
    “When the