"WAGALEXA CONKA—COLA!"
her voice lowered to its softest Indian tone. "Now I think we make plenty marriage; then we go for live in your house."
Ramon turned and caught her unexpectedly in his arms. "Ah, now you spik foolish talk. Yoh not trus' Ramon! Why yoh talk pries', pries' all time? Lov', she's plenty pries' for us. Pries' she don' make us more lov' each other—pries' don' make us happy—we like birds that make nes' in tree-tops. Yoh think they mus' have pries' for help them be happy? Lov'—that's plenty for me."
Annie-Many-Ponies drew herself away from his embrace, but she did it gently. Bill Holmes, coming up from the spring, furnished excuse enough, and Ramon let her go.
"You promise me priest for making us marriage," she persisted in her soft voice.
Ramon twisted the points of his black mustache and regarded her askance, smiling crookedly. "Yoh 'fraid for trus' me, that's why I promise," he said at last. "Me, I don' need padre to mumble-mumble foolish words before I can be happy. Yoh 'fraid of Luck Leen'sey, that's why I prom-
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