Out by the gate rose a clamor which swept nearer and nearer until the noise broke at the corner of the house like a great wave, in a tumult of red blanket, flying black hair, the squalling of a female voice, and the harsh laughter of the man who carried the disturbance, kicking and clawing, in his arms. Fighting his way to the milk-house, he dragged the squaw along beside the porch, followed by the Indians and all the Hart boys, a yelling, jeering audience. “You tell her shont-isham! Ah-h--you can't break loose, you old she-wildcat. Quit your biting, will you? By all the big and little spirits of your tribe, you'll wish--” Panting, laughing, swearing also in breathless exclamations, he forced her to the top of the steps, backed recklessly down them, and came to a stop in the corner by the door. Evadna had taken refuge there; and he pressed her hard against the rough wall without in the least realizing that anything was behind him save unsentient stone. “Now, you sing your little song, and be quick about it!” he commanded his captive sternly. “You tell Mother Hart you lied. I hear she's been telling you I'm drunk, Mother Hart--didn't you, you old beldam? You say you heap sorry you all time tellum lie. You say: 'Good Injun, him all time heap bueno.' Say: 'Good Injun no drunk, no heap shoot, no heap yell--all time bueno.' Quick, or I'll land you headforemost in that pond, you infernal old hag!” “Good Injun hee-eeap kay bueno! Heap debbil all time.” Hagar might be short of breath, but her spirit was unconquered, and her under lip bore witness to her stubbornness. Phoebe caught him by the arm then, thinking he meant to make good his threat--and it would not have been unlike Grant Imsen to do so. “Now, Grant, you let her go,” she coaxed. “I know you aren't drunk--of course, I knew it all the time. I told Hagar so. What do you care what she says about you? You don't want to fight an old woman, Grant--a man can't fight a woman--” “You tell her you heap big liar!” Grant did not even look at Phoebe, but his purpose seemed to waver in spite of himself. “You all time kay bueno. You all time lie.” He gripped her more firmly, and turned his head slightly toward Phoebe. “You'd be tired of it yourself if she threw it into you like she does into me, Mother Hart. It's got so I can't ride past this old hag in the trail but she gives me the bad eye, and mumbles into her blanket. And if I look sidewise, she yowls all over the country that I'm drunk. I'm getting tired of it!” He shook the squaw as a puppy shakes a shoe--shook her till her hair quite hid her ugly old face from sight.