“Mr.—­Casey Ryan,” he stuttered, floundering in the mental backwash left by this flood of amazing eloquence.

“I like that name.  I think I will have you for my friend.  Do not talk to my mother, Hahnaga.  She is crazy.  She tells lies all the time about me.  She does not like me because I have went to school and got a fine educating.  She is mad all the time when she sees that I am not like her.  Now you give me the silks.  I will put on a pretty dress.  My father is dead now and I can do what I wish to do; I am not afraid of my mother.  My mother does not know where to find the gold mine.  I am the only one who knows.”

Casey is a simple soul, too trustful by far.  He was embarrassed by the arch smile which Lucy Lily gave him, and he wished vaguely that she was the blanket squaw she looked to be.  But it never occurred to Casey that there might be a wily purpose behind her words.  He unpacked William and gave her the things he had brought for Injun Jim, and returned with his camp outfit to the spring to think things over while he boiled himself a pot of coffee and fried bacon.

Lucy Lily appeared like an unwarranted vision before him.  Indeed, Casey likened her coming to a nightmare.  Casey no longer wondered why Injun Jim insisted upon Indian dress for Lucy Lily.

Now she wore a red silk skirt much spotted with camp grease.  A three-cornered tear in the side had been sewed with long stitches and coarse white thread, and even Casey was outraged by the un-workmanlike job.  She had on one of the silk shirts, which happened to be striped in many shades, none of which harmonized with the basic color of the skirt.  She also wore two cheap necklaces whose luster had long since faded, and her hair was coiled on top of her head and adorned with three combs containing many white glass settings.  Her face was powdered thickly to the point of her jaws, with very red cheekbones and very red lips.  She wore once-white slippers with French heels much run over at the side and dirty white silk stockings with great holes in the heels.  I must add that the shirt was too narrow in the bust, so that her arms bulged and there were gaping spaces between the buttons.  And for a belt she wore a wide blue ribbon very much creased and soiled, as if she had used it for a long while as a hair bow.

She sat down upon a rock and watched Casey distractedly bungle his cooking.  She must have had a great deal of initiative for a squaw, for she plunged straight into the subject which most nearly concerned Casey, and she was frank to the point of appalling him with her bluntness.  Casey is a rather case-hardened bachelor, but I suspect that Lucy Lily scared him from the beginning.

“Do you like me when I have pretty dress on?” she inquired, smoothing the red silk complacently over her knees.

Casey swears that he told her it didn’t make a darn bit of difference to him what she wore.  If that is the truth, Lucy Lily must have been very stupid or very persistent, for she went on blandly stating her plans and her dearest wish.