“All right--Mother Hart she tellum mebbyso let you go. This time I no throw you in pond. You heap take care next time, mebbyso. You no tellum big lie, me all time heap drunk. You kay bueno. All time me tellum Mother Hart, tellum boys, tellum Viney, Lucy, tellum Charlie and Tom and Sleeping Turtle you heap big liar. Me tell Wally shont-isham. Him all time my friend--mebbyso him no likum you no more. “Huh. Get out--pikeway before I forget you're a lady!” He laughed ironically, and pushed her from him so suddenly that she sprawled upon the steps. The Indians grinned unsympathetically at her, for Hagar was not the most popular member of the tribe by any means. Scrambling up, she shook her witch locks from her face, wrapped herself in her dingy blanket, and scuttled away, muttering maledictions under her breath. The watching group turned and followed her, and in a few seconds the gate was heard to slam shut behind them. Grant stood where he was, leaning against the milk-house wall; and when they were gone, he gave a short, apologetic laugh. “No need to lecture, Mother Hart. I know it was a fool thing to do; but when Donny told me what the old devil said, I was so mad for a minute--” Phoebe caught him again by the arm and pulled him forward. “Grant! You're squeezing Vadnie to death, just about! Great grief, I forgot all about the poor child being here! You poor little--” “Squeezing who?” Grant whirled, and caught a brief glimpse of a crumpled little figure behind him, evidently too scared to cry, and yet not quite at the fainting point of terror. He backed, and began to stammer an apology; but she did not wait to hear a word of it. For an instant she stared into his face, and then, like a rabbit released from its paralysis of dread, she darted past him and deaf up the stone steps into the house. He heard the kitchen-door shut, and the click of the lock. He heard other doors slam suggestively; and he laughed in spite of his astonishment. “And who the deuce might that be?” he asked, feeling in his pocket for smoking material. Phoebe seemed undecided between tears and laughter. “Oh, Grant, GRANT! She'll think you're ready to murder everybody on the ranch--and you can be such a nice boy when you want to be! I did hope--” “I don't want to be nice,” Grant objected, drawing a match along a fairly smooth rock. “Well, I wanted you to appear at your best; and, instead of that, here you come, squabbling with old Hagar like--” “Yes--sure. But who is the timid lady?” “Timid! You nearly killed the poor girl, besides scaring her half to death, and then you call her timid. I know she thought there was going to be a real Indian massacre, right here, and she'd be scalped--” Wally Hart came back, laughing to himself.