Rita knew no more about lions than did her adopted sister, but by the time they had turned over a few more pages their curiosity was aroused to a high degree. Even Ni-ha-be wanted to hear all that the "talking leaves" might have to say in explanation of those wonderful pictures. It was too bad of Rita to have been "born white" and not to be able to explain the work of her own people at sight. "What shall we do with them, Ni-ha-be?" "Show them to father." "Why not ask Red Wolf?" "He would take them away and burn them. He hates the pale-faces more and more every day." "I don't believe he hates me." "Of course not. You're an Apache now, just as much as Mother Dolores, and she's forgotten that she was ever white." "She isn't very white, Ni-ha-be. She's darker than almost any other woman in the tribe." "We won't show her the talking leaves till father says we may keep them. Then she'll be afraid to touch them. She hates me." "No, she doesn't. She likes me best, that's all." "She'd better not hate me, Rita. I'll have her beaten if she isn't good to me. I'm an Apache." The black-eyed daughter of the great chief had plenty of self-will and temper. There could be no doubt of that. She sprang upon her mustang with a quick, impatient bound, and Rita followed, clinging to her prizes, wondering what would be the decision of Many Bears and his councillors as to the ownership of them. A few minutes of swift riding brought the two girls to the border of the camp. "Rita, Red Wolf!" "I see him. He is coming to meet us, but he does not want us to think so." That was a correct guess. The tall, hawk-nosed young warrior, who was now riding toward them, was a perfect embodiment of Indian haughtiness, and even his sister was a mere "squaw" in his eyes. As for Rita, she was not only a squaw, but was not even a full-blooded Apache, and was to be looked down upon accordingly. He was an Indian and a warrior, and would one day be a chief like his father. Still, he had so far laid aside his usual cold dignity as to turn to meet that sisterly pair, if only to find out why they were in such a hurry. "What scared you?" "We're not scared. We've found something. Pale-face sign." "Apache warriors do not ask squaws if there are pale-faces near them. The chiefs know all. Their camp was by the spring." "Was it?" exclaimed Ni-ha-be. "We have found some of their talking leaves. Rita must show them to father." "Show them to me." "No. You are an Apache. You can not hear what they say. Rita can. She is white." "Ugh! Show leaves now." Ni-ha-be was a squaw, but she was also something of a spoiled child, and was less afraid of her brother than he may have imagined. Besides, the well-known rule of the camp, or of any Indian camp, was in her favor. All "signs" were to be reported to the chief by the finder, and Ni-ha-be would make her report to her father like a warrior.