THE DAUGHTER OF A CHIEF
added with a smile for the whole bunch, "We're going to produce some real stuff from now on—believe me, folks!"
In the confusion and the mild clamor of the absence-bridging questions and hasty answers, two persons had no part. Old Applehead, hard-ridden by the uneasy consciousness of his treason to Luck, leaned against a porch post and sucked hard at the stem of an empty pipe. And just beyond the corner out of sight but well within hearing, Annie-Many-Ponies stood flattened against the wall and listened with fast-beating pulse for the sound of her name, spoken in the loved voice of Wagalexa Conka. She, the daughter of a chief and Luck's sister by tribal adoption—would he not miss her from among those others who welcomed him? Would he not presently ask: "Where is Annie-Many-Ponies?"
She knew just how he would turn and search for her with his eyes. She knew just how his voice would sound when he asked for her. Then, after a minute—when he had missed her and had asked for her—she would come and stand before him. And he would take her hand and say to that white
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