She had championed that ornery cur in a way to make Applehead's blood boil.

She had kept the dog in the house at night, which forced the cat to seek cold comfort elsewhere.

She had pilfered the choicest table scraps for the dog--and Compadre was a cat of fastidious palate and grew thin on what coarse bits were condescendingly left for him.
Applehead had not approved of Luck's final consent that Annie-Many-Ponies should stay and play the Indian girl in his big picture.

In the mind of Applehead there lurked a grudge that found all the more room to grow because of the natural bigness and generosity of his nature.

It irked him to see her going her calm way with that proud uptilt to her shapely head and that little, inscrutable smile when she caught the meaning of his grumbling hints.
Applehead was easy-going to a fault in most things, but his dislike had grown in Luck's absence to the point where he considered himself aggrieved whenever Annie-Many-Ponies saddled the horse which had been tacitly set aside for her use, and rode off into the mesa without a word of explanation or excuse.