"You are the squaw, so you have to do all the work. Get down
there now behind that rock and make a fire, while we go out and kill a
deer. You must build a wigwam, too, by the time we get back. Hear me?
I'm a big chief! 'I am Famine--Buckadawin!' and I'll make a living
skeleton of you if you don't hustle."
Virginia was furious. "I'll not be a squaw!" she cried. "And I'll not
build a fire or do anything else if you talk so rudely. If you don't
give me back my bow and let me be a chief, too, I'll--I'll get even with
you, sir, in a way you won't like. I have short hair, and my clothes are
more Indian than yours, and I can shoot better than either of you,
anyhow! So there! Give me my bow."
"What will you do if I won't?" said Keith, teasingly, holding it behind
him.
"I'll go up to the barn and get a rope, and lasso you like I did that
calf, and drag you all over the place!" cried Virginia, her eyes
shining with fierce determination.
"She means it, Keith," said Malcolm. "She'll do it sure, if you don't
stop teasing. Oh, give it to her and come along, or it will be dark
before we begin to play."
Matters went on more smoothly after Malcolm's efforts at peacemaking,
and when it was decided that Ginger could be a brave, too, instead of a
squaw, they were soon playing together as pleasantly as if they had
found the happy hunting grounds.
Pages:
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106