Laughing Bill Hyde | Page 5

will learn from the white people, but not from one of their own kind."
"Your parents--?"
"They died when I was a baby. Mary took me in." The girl spoke in a flat, emotionless tone.
"It must be tough to come back to this, now that you know what life really is," said Thomas, after a time.
Ponatah's eyes were dark with tragedy when she turned them to the speaker. "God!" she cried, unexpectedly, then abruptly she faced the window once more. It was a moment before she went on in fierce resentment:
"Why didn't they leave me as they found me? Why did they teach me their ways, and then send me back to this--this dirt and ignorance and squalor? Sometimes I think I can't stand it. But what can I do? Nobody understands. Mary can't see why I'm different from her and the others. She has grown rich, with her reindeer; she says if this is good enough for her it should be good enough for me. As for the white men who come through, they can't, or they won't, understand. They're hateful to me. Petersen, the mail-carrier, for instance! I don't know why I'm telling you this. You're strangers. You're probably just like Petersen."
"I know why you're telling us," Thomas said, slowly. "It's because I--because we're not like Petersen and the others; it's because I--we can help you."
"Help me?" sneered the girl. "How?"
"I don't know, yet. But you're out of place here. There's a place for you somewhere; I'll find it."
Ponatah shook her head wearily. "Mary says I belong here, with my people."
"No. You belong with white people--people who will treat you well."
This time the girl smiled bitterly. "They have treated me worse than my own people have. I know them, and--I hate them."
"Ain't you the sore-head, now?" Laughing Bill murmured. "You got a hundred-per-cent. grouch, but if the old medicine-man says he'll put you in right, you bet your string of beads he'll do it. He's got a gift for helpin' down-and-outers. You got class, Kid; you certainly rhinestone this whole bunch of red men. Why, you belong in French heels and a boodwar cap; that's how I dope you."
"There must be a chance for a girl like you in Nome," Thomas continued, thoughtfully. "You'd make a good hand with children. Suppose I try to find you a place as governess?"
"Would you?" Ponatah's face was suddenly eager. "Children? Oh yes! I'd work my fingers to the bone. I--I'd do anything--"
"Then I'll do what I can."
For some time longer the three of them talked, and gradually into the native girl's eyes there came a light, for these men were not like the others she had met, and she saw the world begin to unfold before her. When at last they left she laid a hand upon the doctor's arm and said, imploringly:
"You won't forget. You--promise?"
"I promise," he told her.
"He don't forget nothing," Bill assured her, "and if he does I'll see that he don't."
After they had gone Ponatah stood motionless for a long time, then she whispered, breathlessly:
"Children! Little white children! I'll be very good to them."
"She's a classy quilt," Laughing Bill said, on the way back to the road-house.
"She's as pretty as a picture, and little more than a child," the doctor admitted.
"You made a hit. She'd do 'most anything for you." The doctor muttered, absent-mindedly. "She's stood off Petersen and these red-necks, but she'd fall for you." Mr. Hyde was insinuating.
Thomas halted; he stared at his partner curiously, coldly. "Say! Do you think that's why I offered to help her?" he inquired.
"Come clean!" The invalid winked meaningly. "You're a long ways from home, and I've knew fellers to do a lot worse. You can grab her, easy. And if you do--"
Thomas grunted angrily. "I've put up with a lot from you," he said, then he strode on.
"And if you do," the other resumed, falling into step with him, "I'll bust you right where you're thickest."
"Eh?"
"I'll bust you wide open. Oh, me 'n' that gal in the leather frame had a long talk while I was sick in St. Mikes, and she asked me to keep you in the middle of the trail. Well, I'm the little guy that can do it."
"Bill!" Evan Thomas's eyes were twinkling. "I believe I'm going to cure you, after all," said he.
Late that afternoon Mr. Hyde disappeared; he did not show up until after dark.
"I been to see Lo, the poor squaw," he readily confessed. "She ain't the pure domestic leaf, she's a blend--part Rooshian, or something. Seems there was a gang of Rooshians or Swedes or Dagoes of some sort used to run this country. She says they horned into some of the best Injun families, and she's one of the 'overs.'"
"They were Russians."
"Rooshians is a kind of white people, ain't they? Well, that's