Once when her father, old chief Big Turkey, had broken his leg and refused to have a doctor attend him, and had said that he would die if his “son” did not make his leg well, Luck had looked as he looked now.  Still, he had set chief Big Turkey’s leg so well that it grew straight and strong again.  Annie-Many-Ponies might be primitive as to her nature and untutored as to her mind, but she could read the face of her brother Wagalexa Conka swiftly and surely.  Something was very bad in his heart.  Annie-Many-Ponies searched her soul for guilt, remembered the smile she had given to Ramone Chavez whom Wagalexa Conka did not like, and immediately she became humbled before her chief.

Shunka Chistala—­which is Sioux for little dog—­she banished into the cold, and hardened her heart, against his whining.  It is true that Wagalexa Conka had not forbidden her to have the little dog in the house, but in his displeasure he might make the dog an excuse for scolding her and for taking the part of Rosemary, who hated dogs in the house, and who was trying, by every ingratiating means known to woman, to make a friend of Compadre.  Rosemary was a white woman and the wife of Wagalexa Conka’s friend; Annie-Many-Ponies was an Indian girl, not even of the same race as her brother Wagalexa Conka.  And although her vanity might lead her to believe herself and her smile the cause of Luck’s mask-like displeasure, she had no delusions as to which side he would take in an argument between herself and Shunka Chistala on the one side, and Rosemary and Compadre on the other; and in the back of her mind lived always the fear that Wagalexa Conka might refuse to let her stay and work for him in pictures.

Therefore Annie-Many-Ponies crouched humbly before the rock fireplace, until Luck missed her at the table and told her to come and eat; she came as comes a dog who has been beaten, and slid into her place as noiselessly as a shadow,—­humility being the heritage of her sex and race.

No one talked at all.  Even Rosemary seemed depressed and made no attempt to stir the Happy Family to their wonted cheerfulness.  They were worn out from their long day that had been filled with real hardships as well as work.  In the general silence, Luck’s deeper gloom seemed consistent and only to be expected; for hard as the others had worked, he had worked harder.  His had been the directing brain; his hand had turned the camera crank, lest Bill Holmes, not yet familiar with his duties, might fail where failure would be disaster.  He had endured the cold and the storm, tramping back and forth in the snow, planning, directing, doing literally the work of two men.  Annie-Many-Ponies alone knew that exhaustion never brought just that look into Luck’s face.  Annie-Many-Ponies knew that something was very bad in Luck’s heart.  She knew, and she trembled while she ate with a precise attention to her table manners lest he chide her openly before them all.

“How long do you think this storm will last, Applehead?” Luck asked, when he had walked heavily over to the fireplace for his smoke, and had drawn a match sharply along the rough face of a rock.