She
was a tall, angular, high-shouldered, and flat-chested woman, dark
from exposure to wind, sun, and rain, her hair brown in the neck, but
many shades lighter on the crown of her head. Her eyes were of an
expressionless gray. A brown calico of scant pattern clung in lank
folds to her thin and bony figure.
The three daughters were younger and less faded types of their mother.
Each was clad in a narrow-skirted calico dress, and each was
stockingless and shoeless. Mother and daughters were dull, slow of
speech, and ignorant.
After staying long enough to give the necessary instructions and
exchange civilities with each member of the family in sight, I was
riding slowly back to the roadway, intending to take a brisk canter to
the fort, when Corporal Henry's voice called from a clump of cedars at
the back of the Arnold family's wagons.
"Oh, Mr. Duncan, may I speak to you a moment?"
Turning my horse in the direction of the voice, I saw my young friend
approaching, switching a handsome riding-whip in his hand.
"You haven't seen all the family, sir," he said.
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