"
"Me bring Wangee girl to _cache_," replied the Indian, pointing to the
wood. "Honest Injin."
Another bright idea struck Mr. Fairley; but it required some
elaboration. Hurrying the squaw with him through the pelting rain, he
reached the shelter of the corral. Vainly the shivering aborigine drew
her tightly bandaged papoose closer to her square, flat breast, and
looked longingly toward the cabin; the old man backed her against the
palisade. Here he cautiously imparted his dark intentions to employ her
to keep watch and ward over the ranch, and especially over its young
mistress--"clear out all the tramps 'ceptin' yourself, and I'll keep ye
in grub and rum." Many and deliberate repetitions of this offer in
various forms at last seemed to affect the squaw; she nodded violently,
and echoed the last word "rum." "Now," she added. The old man
hesitated; she was in possession of his secret; he groaned, and,
promising an immediate installment of liquor, led her to the cabin.
The door was so securely fastened against the impact of the storm that
some moments elapsed before the bar was drawn, and the old man had
become impatient and profane.
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