my mouth open. Mike had led so sudden that he had me over the ropes.

"I'm goin' to do that very little thing," he declared. "I dunno how to
talk much Navajo, but I'm learnin' fast, and she got my meanin'. We
understand each other, and we'll do better as time goes on. She calls
me 'Emmike'! Sweet, ain't it?" He heaved a sigh, then he gargled a
laugh that sounded like boilin' mush. "It ain't often a feller like me
gets a swell little dame that worships him. Horses, guns, camp-fires!
Can you beat it?"

"If that squaw had a soft palate or a nose like a eeclair, you
wouldn't be so keen for this simple life," I told him. "She has
stirred up your wickedness, Mike, and you've gone nutty. You're
moon-crazy, that's all. You cut it out."

I argued half the night; but the more I talked the more I seen that
Mike was stuck to be a renegade. It's a fact. If he hadn't of been
a nice kid I'd of cut his hobbles and let him go; but--pshaw! Mike
Butters could run too fast to be wasted among savages, and, besides,
it's a terrible thing for a white man to marry an Injun. The red never
dies out in the woman, but the white in the man always changes into a
dirty, muddy red. I laid awake a long while tryin' to figger out a way
to block his game, but the only thing I could think of was to tie him
up and wear out a cinch on him. Just as I was dozin' off I had an idy.
I didn't like it much at first; I had to swaller hard to down it, but
the more I studied it the better it looked, so for fear I'd weaken I
rolled over and went to sleep.

Mike was in earnest, and so was the girl; that much I found out
the next day. And she must of learned him enough Navajo to propose