THE HERITAGE OF THE SIOUX
the Native Son, as they call him—and so far he's cast for another part. That's the worst of Luck. He won't talk about what he's going to do till he's all ready to do it."
There was a little further discussion. Ramon muttered a few sentences—rapid instructions, Annie-Many-Ponies believed from the tone he used.
"All right, I'll keep you posted," Bill Holmes replied in English. And he added as he started off, "You can send word by the squaw."
He went carefully back down the arroyo, keeping as much as possible in the shade. Behind him stole Annie-Many-Ponies, noiseless as the shadow of a cloud. Bill Holmes, she reflected angrily, had seen the day, not so far in the past, when he was happy if the "squaw" but smiled upon him. It was because she had repelled his sly lovemaking that he had come to speak of her slightingly like that; she knew it. She could have named the very day when his manner toward her had changed. Mingled with her hate and dread of him was a new contempt and a new little anxiety over this clandestine intimacy between Ramon and him. Why
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