[Pg 143] "If her presence blackens the walls, we will have them whitewashed."
"Geronimo does not want that any more. He has[Pg 271] tried to do right. He is not thinking bad. Such stories ought not to be put in the newspapers."
Brewster was silent, but he neither flinched nor cowered, nor yet shifted his eyes. "How," he said gruffly.
Felipa sat on the edge of the bunk and talked to[Pg 58] him, a little excited, and very anxious to try what a scout was like for herself. She heard, and again her eyes met Forbes's. There was a flash of comprehension in them. She knew what he was thinking very well. But she left the fence, and, pushing the sunbonnet over her head, joined them, not in the least put out, and they dismounted and walked beside her, back to the house. She jumped to her feet. "I ain't going to do it."
The murmurs in the corral rose louder. It was not that Kirby and his partners underpaid, underfed, or overworked the American citizens. It was that their language was decent and moderate; and the lash of the slave driver would have stung less than the sight of the black coats and the seven o'clock dinner. In the midst of white savages and red, the four clung to the forms of civilization with that dogged persistence in the unessential, that worship of the memory of a forsaken home, for which the Englishman, time and again, lays down his life without hesitation. That was the grievance.