But say, Kid, I can't understand
this.' Prince imitated a peculiar movement of the shoulders and
head--a weakness Madeline suffered from in walking.
'Lucky for her she was raised in the Mission,' Malemute Kid
answered. 'Packing, you know,--the head-strap. Other Indian women
have it bad, but she didn't do any packing till after she
married, and then only at first. Saw hard lines with that husband
of hers. They went through the Forty-Mile famine together.' 'But
can we break it?' 'Don't know.
'Perhaps long walks with her trainers will make the riffle.
Anyway, they'll take it out some, won't they, Madeline?' The girl
nodded assent. If Malemute Kid, who knew all things, said so, why
it was so. That was all there was about it.
She had come over to them, anxious to begin again. Harrington
surveyed her in quest of her points much in the same manner men
usually do horses. It certainly was not disappointing, for he
asked with sudden interest, 'What did that beggarly uncle of
yours get anyway?' 'One rifle, one blanket, twenty bottles of
hooch. Rifle broke.' She said this last scornfully, as though
disgusted at how low her maiden-value had been rated.
She spoke fair English, with many peculiarities of her husband's
speech, but there was still perceptible the Indian accent, the
traditional groping after strange gutturals.
Pages:
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158