For she has an open, good humored countenance; the very reverse of that of the first wife, whose vinegar aspect would frighten away an army of small children.
After "Old Bets" returned, Good Road could not conceal his satisfaction.
His wife's trip had evidently improved her good looks, for the chief thought she was the handsomest squaw in the village.

Her children were always taunting the sons of the first wife, and so it went on, until at last Good Road said he would stand it no longer; he told his oldest wife to go--that he would support her no longer.

And for her children, he told them the prairies were large; there were deer and other game--in short, he disinherited them--cut them off with their last meal.
For the discarded wife, life had now but one hope.

The only star that shone in the blackness of her heaven, was the undefined prospect of seeing her rival's blood flow.

She would greatly have preferred taking her life herself; and as she left the wigwam of the chief, she grasped the handle of her knife--how quick her heart beat! it might be now or never.
But there were too many around to protect Old Bets.