They made a strange group, those
three wild things, equally fierce and passionate in hate and in love.
Suddenly the girl remembered me, and standing up she said, half ashamed:
"They always obey ME. They are MINE, but they kill any strange thing
that comes in through the gate. They are allowed to."
"It is a pleasant whim."
"What?"
"I mean, isn't that dangerous to strangers?"
"Oh, no one ever comes alone, except The Duke. And they keep off the
wolves."
"The Duke comes, does he?"
"Yes!" and her eyes lit up. "He is my friend. He calls me his
'princess,' and he teaches me to talk and tells me stories--oh,
wonderful stories!"
I looked in wonder at her face, so gentle, so girlish, and tried to
think back to the picture of the girl who a few moments before had so
coolly threatened to shoot me and had so furiously beaten her dogs.
I kept her talking of The Duke as we walked back to the gate, watching
her face the while. It was not beautiful; it was too thin, and the mouth
was too large. But the teeth were good, and the eyes, blue-black with
gray rims, looked straight at you; true eyes and brave, whether in love
or in war. Her hair was her glory. Red it was, in spite of Hi's denial,
but of such marvellous, indescribable shade that in certain lights, as
she rode over the prairie, it streamed behind her like a purple banner.
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