"You are a very bright boy! And your name is Dan--Daniel. You want a souvenir? Well, all right, but not just now. I've got other business. I came to teach your school." She hesitated, looking keenly at their astonished faces. "Yes, your father has engaged me--hired me, so I think we'd better go inside and begin work, don't you? We'll overlook this shooting affair. I don't know as I blame you very much for not wanting a man teacher, but of course the shooting was very wrong, and you shouldn't have tried to frighten anyone; but we'll forget all about it. But you are not going to have a man teacher, and I am different. I am going to live at your house, too, so of course we'll be good friends--ride together, hunt, and have great times, _after school_. During school we _work_, remember that! Now one of you boys please stake out my horse for me and then we will go inside and start school. You boys must help me get things to working." Before she had finished speaking the soft-voiced twin caught her horse, which was grazing near. Dave, more clumsily built, followed him, while the girl took the small boy by the hand and started toward the school-house. At the door she turned in time to see the twins struggling at her horse's head. They were about ready to come to blows. "I'll take care of that horse myself," said Dave gruffly, attempting to force the other boy's hand from the bridle. "Don't fight, boys, or _I_ will take care of the horse," called the new school-teacher severely; thereupon the soft-voiced twin released his hold and walked demurely up to the school-house. "Anyway," he explained as he went inside, "Dave's the youngest, and so I let him have the horse." "I never was so frightened in my life," thought the girl, as she arranged the small school for the day. "But the only way to manage these little devils is to bluff them." CHAPTER III A group composed principally of cowboys, squaw-men, and breeds squatted and lounged outside of Joe Harris' house. Numerous tousley-headed boys, with worn overalls and bare feet, played noisily on the outskirts, dogs and pigs scurried about everywhere, while in the doorway of the dingy, dirt-covered kitchen in the rear hovered a couple of Indian women and several small dark-skinned children. Somewhere out of sight, probably over the cook-stove, were two or three nearly grown girls. Such, at supper time, was the usual aspect of Joe Harris' cabins, varied occasionally by more or less Indians, whose tepees stood at one side, or more or less dogs, but always the same extraordinary amount of squealing pigs and children.