"What else to do?" asked Molly.  "Sit with hands folded on stomach, so? No! Still hands make crazy head. Now you work with your hands you no so sorry in head, huh?" 

 Rhoda thought for a moment. There was a joy in the rude camp tasks that she had assumed that she never had found in golf or automobiling. She nodded, then said wistfully: 

 "You think I'm no good at all, don't you, Molly?" 

 Molly shrugged her shoulders. 

 "Me not got papooses. You not got papooses. Molly and you no good! Molly is heap strong. What good is that? When she die she no has given her strength to tribe, no done any good that will last. You are heap beautiful. What good is that? You no give your face to your tribe. What good are you? Molly and you might as well die tomorrow. Work, have papooses, die. That all squaws are for. Great Spirit says so. Squaw's own heart says so." 

 Rhoda sat silently looking at the squaw's squat figure, the toil-scarred fingers, the good brown eyes out of which looked a woman's soul. Vaguely Rhoda caught a point of view that made her old ideals seem futile. She smoothed the Indian woman's hands. 

 "I sometimes think you are a bigger woman than I am, Molly," she said humbly. 

 "You are heap good to look at."  Molly spoke wistfully.  "Molly heap homely. You think that makes any difference to the Great Spirit?" 

 Rhoda's eyes widened, a little. Did it make any difference? After all, what counted with the Great Spirit? She stared at the barren ranges that lifted mute peaks to the silent heavens. Always, always the questions and so vague the answers! Suddenly Rhoda knew that her beauty had counted greatly with her all her life, had given her her sense of superiority to the rest of the world. Rhoda squirmed. She hated this faculty of the Indians and the desert to make her seem small. She never had felt so with her own kind. Her own kind! Would she never again know the deference, the gentleness, the loving tenderness of her own people? Rhoda forgot Molly's wistful question. 

 "O Molly!" she cried.  "I can't stand this! I want my own people! I want my own people!" 

 Molly's eyes filled with tears. 

 "No! No cry, little Sun-streak!" she pleaded, putting an arm around Rhoda and holding her to her tenderly.  "Any peoples that 

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