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Despite the great change in her environment, Ponatah remained in many ways quite aboriginal. For instance, she was embarrassingly direct and straightforward; she entirely lacked hypocrisy, and that which puzzled or troubled her she boldly put into words. There came a time when Bill discovered that Ponatah’s eyes, when they looked at him, were more than friendly, that most of the services she performed were aimed at him.

Then one day she asked him to marry her.

There was nothing brazen or forward about the proposal; Ponatah merely gave voice to her feelings in a simple, honest way that robbed her of no dignity.

Bill laughed the proposal off. “I wouldn’t marry the Queen of Sheby,” said he.

“Why?”

“I ain’t that kind of a bird, that’s why.”

“What kind of a bird are you?” Ponatah eyed him with grave curiosity. “All men marry. I’m reading a great many books, and they’re all about love and marriage. I love you, and I’m pretty. Is it because I’m an Indian–?”

“Hell! That wouldn’t faze me, Kiddo. You skin the white dames around this village. But you better cut out them books.”

“I’d make you a good wife.”

“Sure! You’re aces. But I’d make a bum husband. I ain’t got the breath to blow out a candle.” Mr. Hyde chuckled; the idea of marriage plainly amused him. “How you know I ain’t got a covey of wives?” he inquired.

“Oh, I know!” Ponatah was unsmiling. “I’m simple, but I can see through people. I can tell the good ones and the bad ones. You’re a good man, Billy.”

Now this praise was anything but agreeable to Mr. Hyde, for above all things he abhorred so-called “good” people. Good people were suckers, and he prided himself upon being a wise guy, with all that was meant thereby.

“You lay off of me, Kid,” he warned, darkly, “and you muffle them wedding bells. You can’t win nothing with that line of talk. If I was fifty inches around the chest, liked to work, and was fond of pas’ment’ries I’d prob’ly fall for you, but I ain’t. I’m a good man, all right–to leave alone. I’ll be a brother to you, but that’s my limit.” The subject was embarrassing, so he changed it. “Say! I been thinking about that claim of yours. Didn’t you get no paper from that missionary?”

“No.”

“Then his word’s as good as yours.”

“That’s what the lawyer told me. I offered to give him half, but he wouldn’t touch the case.”

“It was a dirty deal, but you better forget it.”

“I’ll try,” the girl promised. “But I don’t forget easily.”

Laughing Bill’s rejection of Ponatah’s offer of marriage did not in the least affect their friendly relations. She continued to visit the cabin, and not infrequently she reverted to the forbidden topic, only to meet with discouragement.

Doctor Thomas had opened an office, of course, but business was light and expenses heavy. Supplies were low in Nome and prices high; coal, for instance, was a hundred dollars a ton and, as a result, most of the idle citizens spent their evenings—but precious little else–around the saloon stoves. When April came Laughing Bill regretfully decided that it was necessary for him to go to work. The prospect was depressing, and he did not easily reconcile himself to it, for he would have infinitely preferred some less degraded and humiliating way out of the difficulty. He put up a desperate battle against the necessity, and he did not accept the inevitable until thoroughly convinced that the practice of medicine and burglary could not be carried on from the same residence without the risk of serious embarrassment to his benefactor.

However, to find employment in a community where there were two men to one job was not easy, but happily–or unhappily–Bill had a smattering of many trades, and eventually there came an opening as handy-man at a mine. It was a lowly position, and Bill had little pride in it, for he was put to helping the cook, waiting on table, washing dishes, sweeping cabins, making beds, and the like. He had been assured that the work was light, and so it was, but it was also continuous. He could summon not the slightest interest in it until he discovered that this was the very claim which rightfully belonged to Ponatah. Then, indeed, he pricked up his ears.