With the little black dog at her heels she climbed a small, round-topped hill that had a single pine like a cockade growing from the top.
For ten minutes she stood there on the top and stared away to the southeast, whence she had come to keep her promise to Ramon.

Never, it seemed to her, had a girl been so alone.

In all the world there could not be a soul so bitter.

Liar--thief--betrayer of women--and she had left the clean, steadfast friendship of her brother Wagalexa Conka for such human vermin as Ramon Chavez! She sat down, and with her face hidden in her shawl and her slim body rocking back and forth in weird rhythm to her wailing, she crooned the mourning song of the Omaha.
Death of her past, death of her place among good people, death of her friendship, death of hope--she sat there with her face turned toward the far-away, smiling mesa where she had been happy, and wailed softly to herself as the women of her tribe had wailed when sorrow came to them in the days that were gone.
All through the afternoon she sat there with her back to the lone pine tree and her face turned toward the southeast, while the little black dog lay at her feet and slept.

From the cabin Ramon watched her, stubbornly waiting until she would come down to him of her own accord.
She would come--of that he was sure.