He gave a twitch of his fingers upon the reins, and turned from
the trail to investigate. He rode up to the rock, which stood
like an island of shade in that sea of soft moonlight, and,
peering into the shadows, spoke a guarded challenge:
"Who's that?"
A figure detached itself without sound from the blot of darkness
there, and stood almost at his stirrup.
"Yo' Good Injun--me likum for talk yo'."
Good Indian was conscious of a distinct disappointment, though he
kept it from his voice when he answered:
"Oh, it's you, Peppajee. What you do here? Why you no sleepum
yo' wikiup?"
Peppajee held up a slim, brown hand for silence, and afterward
rested it upon the saddle-fork.
"Yo' heap frien' Peaceful. Me heap frien' all same. Mebbyso we
talk. Yo' get down. No can see yo', mebbyso; yo' no likum bad
man for se--" He stepped back a pace, and let Good Indian
dismount; then with a gesture he led him back into the shadow of
the rock.
"Well, what's the row?" Good Indian asked impatiently, and
curiously as well.
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