He watched her with indifferent curiosity; the abrupt changes of mood
repelled him. His depreciatory thoughts of her, his resolution not to be
led away again by her beauty influencing him, he noticed the keen
hardness of the look, and felt, perhaps out of a spirit of antagonism,
that he disliked it.
After a few quieting phrases, which, though they sprang rather from the
head than the heart, seemed to achieve their aim, he changed the
subject, by pointing across the creek and asking:
"Whose corn is that?"
"Father's, I guess!"
"I thought that was the Indian territory?"
"It is!"
"Is one allowed to sow corn there and to fence off the ground? Don't the
Indians object?"
"'Tain't healthy for Indians about here," she answered carelessly, "I
hain't ever seen one. I guess it's allowed; anyhow, the corn's there an'
father'll have it cut right soon."
It seemed to Bancroft that they had not a thought in common. Wrong done
by her own folk did not even interest her. At once he moved towards the
house, and the girl followed him, feeling acutely disappointed and
humiliated, which state of mind quickly became one of rebellious self-
esteem. She guessed that other men thought big shucks of her anyway. And
with this reflection she tried to comfort herself.
* * * * *
A week or ten days later, Bancroft came downstairs one morning early and
found the ground covered with hoar-frost, though the sun had already
warmed the air. Elder Conklin, in his shirt-sleeves, was cleaning his
boots by the wood pile. When he had finished with the brush, but not a
moment sooner, he put it down near his boarder. His greeting, a mere
nod, had not prepared the schoolmaster for the question:
"Kin you drive kyows?"
"I think so; I've done it as a boy."
"Wall, to-day's Saturday. There ain't no school, and I've some cattle to
drive to the scales in Eureka. They're in the brush yonder, ef you'd
help. That is, supposin' you've nothin' to do."
"No. I've nothing else to do, and shall be glad to help you if I can."
|