" ” a small girl cried, dancing around the mare’s legs, her button eyes gleaming, her plump brown bottom jiggling so hard that she was about to lose her breechcloth. “ ” Hunter pried Loretta’s frantic fingers from his arm and slid off the horse. Smiling at the child, he leaned over and retied her breechcloth thong. “ , yes.” Glancing up at Loretta, he said, “She is a yellow-hair, and she is mine. "