The morning found the post-trader with a raging headache. For several minutes after awakening to consciousness he remained motionless, not realizing time or place. “Oh, mother! my head, my head!” he exclaimed, as he locked his fingers above his throbbing temples. Never before since his marriage had he uttered a cry of pain without bringing Wahnetta to his side. Now no one noticed his groaning. He raised himself upon his elbow and gazed through the open door of his sleeping apartment upon the broad and dusty plain. The sun was already an hour high. Numerous campers had struck their tents, and the teams were moving toward the farther West. He turned his gaze within the tent and regarded Wahnetta with a look and feeling of disgust. She had prepared his breakfast while he slept, and had fed their ravenous brood,—all save the baby in its Indian basket, which was whining pitifully as it blinked its eyes in a helpless attempt to drive away the flies. “Why don’t you keep your young one quiet?” roared her husband, savagely. “I’ve been doing the best I could,” said the woman, meekly. “I’ve gotten all the children settled outside in the shade, studying their lessons, except this poor little pappoose, and I’ll ’tend to his wants as soon as I have disposed of the worst baby in the lot,—and that’s you.” “What in thunder has come over you, woman?” “Nothing.” “Have you had breakfast?” “Food would choke me, Joseph Addicks! See what you did last night!” She threw back her heavy mass of torn and tangled hair, exposing an ugly bruise on her temple. “If it were not for these children, I’d leave you and strike out for myself. But as I cannot get away from them, I will stay by them, as many a woman in all countries is obliged to do under like circumstances till she either dies or can run away. But I tell you right here and now that I will never take another blow from you or any other man.” “I’d like to see you help yourself.” “I’ll help myself by laying you dead at my feet! No man who respects himself will marry a woman not his equal, or if she is of an inferior race. I didn’t know this when I was a foolish young girl, but I understand it now. In marrying an Indian girl you did not elevate her one atom, but you degraded us both. I now tell you to your teeth that I hate you, and you can’t help it.” “I never would have married you if I had known that I was not an outlaw. I thought myself a murderer till yesterday. I know better now. I am sorry I beat you, though. I wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t been in a drunken frenzy. I’m in a better temper this morning; but oh, my head, my head!” “Let it ache! So does mine, but I can’t lie abed and groan. I am compelled to look after the family’s needs, sick or well.” Then, womanlike, though the poor little pappoose fretted pitifully in its Indian basket, his wife brought cold water and towels and bathed his throbbing forehead.