"Injun," returned the Western girl, laconically. "Or, part Injun. He comes from 'way up Canada way. His folks had Jibbeway blood."
"But who is he?" queried Ruth, curiously.
"Why, he's a puncher that works for Well, he's a cow puncher. That's 'nuff. It don't matter where he works," added the girl, gruffly.
"That might give away where you come from, eh?" put in Mercy.
"It might," and Nita laughed.
"But what is your name?" asked Ruth.
"Nita, I tell you."
"Nita what?"
"Never mind. Just Nita. Mebbe I never had another name. Isn't one name at a time sufficient, Miss?"
"I don't believe that is your really-truly name," said Ruth, gravely.
"I bet you're right, Ruth Fielding!" cried Heavy, chuckling. "'Nita' and 'Jib Pottoway' don't seem to go together. 'Nita' is altogether too fancy."
"It's a nice name! " exclaimed the strange girl, in some anger. "It was the name of the girl in the paper-covered novel—and it's good enough for me."
"But what's your real name?" urged Ruth,
"I'm not telling you that," replied the runaway, shortly.
