No, you'd bust her; I know how to handle her!" He was gone through the door with gigantic leaps and shot over the crest of the low hill.

Then those in the cookhouse heard a small, tingling scream; after it, came silence, and the tall foreman striding across the hill with the child high in his arms.

He came panting through the door and stood her up on the end of the table, a small and fearless creature.
She wore on her feet the little moccasins which Dan himself had fashioned for her, but the tawny hide was not on her--perhaps her mother had thrown the garment away.

The moccasins and the white nightgown were the sum and substance of her apparel, and the cowpunchers stood up around the table to admire her spunk.
"Damed near spat pizen," observed Ben Swann, "when I hung into her--tried to bite me, but the minute I got her in my hands she quit strugglin', as reasonable as a grown-up, by God!" "Shut up, Ben.

Don't you know no better'n to cuss in front of a kid ?" The great, dark eyes of Joan went somberly from face to face.