"Look at the baby," she said quickly, "a lovely fat baby with curls,"
then slid off her horse and went toward them.
The woman drew back staring. The children ran to her, frightened as
young rabbits, and hid behind her skirts. Only the baby, grave and
unalarmed, stood his ground and Susan snatched him up. Then the mother
smiled, gratified and reassured. She had no upper front teeth, and the
wide toothless grin gave her a look of old age that had in it a curious
suggestion of debasement.
David stood by his horse, making no move to come forward. The party
repelled him. They were not only uncouth and uncomely, but they were
dirty. Dirt on an Indian was, so to speak, dirt in its place--but
unwashed women and children--! His gorge rose at it. And Susan,
always dainty as a pink, seemed entirely indifferent to it. The
children, with unkempt hair and legs caked in mud, crowded about her,
and as she held the baby against her chest, her glance dwelt on the
woman's face, with no more consciousness of its ugliness than when she
looked over the prairie there was consciousness of Nature's supreme
perfection.
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