So Rosemary read, with the whole Happy Family crowding close to look over her shoulder: 

Kyle, P. Office
Pine Ridge, So.  D
Monday, Nov.

Luck Lindsay
at Motion Pictures ranch,
Albequrqe, New M.

Friend son,

I this day gets letter from agent at agency who tell my girl you sisters are now at New mexicos with you pictures. shes go way one days at night times and to-morrow mornings i no find him. i am glad she sees you. you Take care same as with shows them Buffalo bill. all indians have hard times for cold and much hays and fires of prairies loses much. them indians shake you hands with good hearts they have with you. send me blue silks ribbon send Me pictures so i can see you.  Again i shake you by hand with good heart same as I see you.  Speak one Letters quick again.

you father, BIG TURKEY.

“Pretty good spelling, for an Indian letter,” Rosemary commented suspiciously.  “Are you sure an Indian wrote it, Luck Lindsay?”

“Why, certainly, I’m sure!” Luck was shuffling his other letters with the air of a man whose mind has for the moment lost its load of trouble.  “George-Low-Cedar wrote it.  I know his writing.  He’s Annie’s cousin, and he thinks he’s highly educated.  Indians have great memories, and once they learn to spell a word, they never seem to forget it.  They learn to spell in school.  What they don’t learn is how to put the words together the way we do.  Cousin George is also shaky on capitals, you notice.  Now to-morrow we can go ahead with that big cattle-stuff.  I can take my time about making Annie’s scenes; I was afraid I might have to rush them all through first thing, so as to send her back.  I’m sure glad she can stay; she’s good to have around, to help in the house.”

Rosemary screwed up her lips and gave him a queer look, but Luck had turned his attention to another letter, and she did not say what was in her mind.  Annie-Many-Ponies, speaking theoretically, was good to have around to help Rosemary.  In actual practice, however, Rosemary found her not so good.  Personally Annie was fastidiously tidy, which Rosemary ungenerously set down to youthful vanity rather than to innate cleanliness.  When it came to washing dishes, however, Annie-Many-Ponies left much to be desired.  She was prone to disappear about the time she reached the biscuit-basin and the frying-pan stage of the thrice-daily performance.  She was prone to fancy she heard Wagalexa Conka calling her, or Shunka Chistala barking in pursuit of the cat, or a hen cackling out in the weeds; whatever the sound, it invariably became a summons which Annie-Many-Ponies must instantly obey.  Then she forgot to come back within the next two or three hours, and Rosemary must finish the dishes herself.  But all this, as Rosemary well knew, was an unimportant detail of the general scheme of work going on at Applehead’s ranch.