Even then she had been named a squaw.

It was as though they had been speaking of a horse.

They did not count her worthy of a place in their company, they did not miss her voice and her smile.
"Hid out," Wagalexa Conka had said.

Well, she would hide out, then--she, the daughter of a chief of the Sioux; she, whom Wagalexa Conka had been glad to have in his picture when he was poor and had no money to pay white leading women.

But now he had much money; now he could come in a big automobile, with a slim, white leading woman and a camera man and scenic artist and much money in his pocket; and she--she was just a squaw who had hid out, and who would show up after a while and be grateful if he took her by the hand and said, "How!" With so many persons moving eagerly here and there, none but an Indian could have slipped away from that house and from the ranch without being seen.