“Libby Jones.”

He took a small memorandum book and a “stub” of pencil from his pocket.  “Elizabeth Jones,” he said, writing it down.  The girl interposed a long red hand.

“No,” she interrupted sharply, “not Elizabeth, but Libby, short for Lib’rty.”

“Liberty?”

“Yes.”

“Liberty Jones, then.  Well, Waya, this is Miss Jones, who will look after the cows and calves—­and the dairy.”  Then glancing at her torn dress, he added:  “You’ll find some clean things in there, until I can send up something from San Jose.  Waya will show you.”

Without further speech he turned away with the other man.  When they were some distance from the cabin, the younger remarked:—­

“More like a boy than a girl, ain’t she?”

“So much the better for her work,” returned the elder grimly.

“I reckon!  I was only thinkin’ she didn’t han’some much either as a boy or girl, eh, doctor?” he pursued.

“Well! as that won’t make much difference to the cows, calves, or the dairy, it needn’t trouble us,” returned the doctor dryly.  But here a sudden outburst of laughter from the cabin made them both turn in that direction.  They were in time to see Liberty Jones dancing out of the cabin door in a large cotton pinafore, evidently belonging to the squaw, who was following her with half-laughing, half-frightened expostulations.  The two men stopped and gazed at the spectacle.

“Don’t seem to be takin’ the old man’s death very pow’fully,” said the younger, with a laugh.

“Quite as much as he deserved, I daresay,” said the doctor curtly.  “If the accident had happened to her, he would have whined and whimpered to us for the sake of getting something, but have been as much relieved, you may be certain.  She’s too young and too natural to be a hypocrite yet.”

Suddenly the laughter ceased and Liberty Jones’s voice arose, shrill but masterful:  “Thar, that’ll do!  Quit now!  You jest get back to your scrubbin’—­d’ye hear?  I’m boss o’ this shanty, you bet!”

The doctor turned with a grim smile to his companion.  “That’s the only thing that bothered me, and I’ve been waiting for.  She’s settled it.  She’ll do.  Come.”

They turned away briskly through the wood.  At the end of half an hour’s walk they found the team that had brought them there in waiting, and drove towards San Jose.  It was nearly ten miles before they passed another habitation or trace of clearing.  And by this time night had fallen upon the cabin they had left, and upon the newly made orphan and her Indian companion, alone and contented in that trackless solitude.

*****