She made up her mind, too, that she would try not to think too much about Ma McBirney. If she did she would get to crying again, and she didn’t want to cry. She wanted to think, and to watch, and to be wise and act at the right moment. And having reached that conclusion, she sat up in bed with something almost like brightness on her face. And at that Tige, the bulldog, sat up too and showed all of his teeth as he gave a low growl. Tige was a good dog according to his lights; and his lights told him that when his master, Rafe Bowen—according to Tige, the most wonderful master in the world—told him to “watch,” why then, he was to watch; nay he was to sleep with one eye open and both ears alert. “For goodness sake, Tige,” whispered Azalea, leaning forward and putting out her hand toward the dog, “be sensible, can’t you? I’ve got to move sometimes, haven’t I?” Betty Bowen threw her brown arms up over her frowsy head. “Keep still, you, Zalie,” she snarled sleepily. “Don’t you see I’m dead beat?” So for two hours longer the restless girl had to lie still in her bed, though it became almost an agony to do so, while the tired show woman slept on and on. After a time, however, the little camp came to life. Rafe got up and demanded breakfast. Betty straggled out, heavy-eyed and slatternly, and set forth some cold food which Azalea could not swallow. The horses were fed, the wagon greased, and all was got in readiness for a hasty flight if necessary. Azalea helped as they directed her, and she managed to find a chance to wash carefully as Ma McBirney had taught her, and she combed her hair with a little side comb, and made herself look as well as she could. “You’ve got mighty fine ways since you’ve been living out,” remarked Betty Bowen teasingly. Azalea looked at her as candidly as she would have looked at Ma McBirney, for someway, in spite of all her anger, she was feeling sorry for Bet Bowen this morning. “Yes, Mrs. Bowen,” she said. “I have been taught some nice ways. Mrs. McBirney is the neatest woman you ever saw. Of course my own mamma tried to teach me things, but what was the use, when we didn’t have any way to keep nice? You can’t keep clean and fresh on the road, can you?” Betty looked at the girl in sullen surprise. She had not expected to be met in this neighborly fashion. She thought to herself that if she were being held a prisoner, no one could get her to “chirk up” like that. “No, you bet you can’t,” she said in answer to the girl’s question. “Now me, I used to wash my hair and brush it, and keep my hands pretty. I wasn’t always a battered old ship of the desert like I be now.” Bet could be rather picturesque in her speech when she had a mind. “Fact is, I reckon I had too much good looks and too little sense once on a time. Both the sense and the looks have been knocked out of me now. I guess you or anybody can see that.”