He waited for a space, stole back to where he could hear any
sound from the porch even if he could not see, and when he was
certain that Baumberger had gone back to his bed, he got his
horse, took him by a roundabout way to the stable, and himself
slept in a haystack. At least, he made himself a soft place
beside one, and lay there until the sun rose, and if he did not
sleep it was not his fault, for he tried hard enough.
That is how Good Indian came to take his usual place at the
breakfast table, and to touch elbows with Evadna and to greet her
with punctilious politeness and nothing more. That is why he got
out his fishing-tackle and announced that he thought he would
have a try at some trout himself, and so left the ranch not much
behind Baumberger. That is why he patiently whipped the Malad
riffles until he came up with the portly lawyer from Shoshone,
and found him gleeful over a full basket and bubbling with
innocent details of this gamy one and that one still gamier.
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