“Long time ago--when I was papoose with no shoes,” she began with seeming irrelevance, her eyes turning instinctively toward the white tents of the Flying U camp gleaming in the distance, “my people go for work in Buffalo Bill show. My father go, my mother go, I go. All time we dance for show, make Indian fight with cowboys--all them act for Buffalo Bill-Pawnee Bill show. That time Wagalexa Conka boss of Indians. He Indian Agent. He take care whole bunch. He make peace when fights, he give med'cine when somebody sick. He awful good to them Indians. He give me candy, always stop to talk me. I like him. My father like him. All them Indians like him plenty much. My father awful sick one time, he no let doctor come. Leg broke all in pieces. He say die plenty if Wagalexa Conka no make well. I go ticket wagon, tell Wagalexa Conka, he come quick, fix up leg all right. “All them Indians like to make him--” She stopped, searching her mind for the elusive, little-used word which she had learned in the mission school. “Make him sdop',” she finished triumphantly. “Indians make much dance, plenty music, lots speeches make him Indian man. My father big chief, he make Wagalexa Conka him son. Make him my brother. Give him Indian name Wagalexa Conka. All Indians call that name for him. “Pretty soon show stop, all them Indians go home by reservation. long time we don't see Wagalexa Conka no more. I get big girl, go school little bit. Pretty soon Wagalexa Conka come back, for wants them Indians for work in pictures. My father go, my mother go, all us go. We work long time. I,” she added with naive pride in her comeliness, “awful good looking. I do lots of foreground stuff. Pretty soon hard times come. Indians go home by reservation. I go--I don't like them reservations no more. Too lonesome. I like for work all time in pictures. I come, tell Wagalexa Conka I be Indian girl for pictures. He write letter for agent, write letter for my father. They writes letter for say yes, I stay. I stay and do plenty more foreground stuff.” “I don't see you do moch foreground work since that white girl come,” Ramon observed, hitting what he instinctively knew was a tender point. Had he seen her face, he must have been satisfied that the chance shot struck home. But in the shadow hate blazed unseen from her eyes. She did not speak, and so he went back to his first charge. “All this don't tell me moch,” he complained. “Yoh lov' him, maybe? That's what I ask.” “Wagalexa Conka my brother, my father, my friend,” she replied calmly, and let him interpret it as he would.