He was digging into the caked dirt inside the hoof with
his pocketknife, and, though Evadna waited while she might have
spoken a dozen words, he paid not the slightest attention--and
that in spite of the distinct shadow of her head and shoulders
which lay at his feet.
"Oh--Grant," she began perfunctorily, "I'm sorry to trouble
you--but do you happen to have an empty pocket?"
Good Indian gave a final scrape with his knife, and released the
foot, which Keno immediately stamped pettishly into the dust. He
closed the knife, after wiping the blade upon his trousers leg,
and returned it to his pocket before he so much as glanced toward
her.
"I may have. Why?" He picked up the bridle-reins, caught the
saddle-horn, and thrust his toe into the stirrup. From under his
hat-brim he saw that she was pinching her under lip between her
teeth, and the sight raised his spirits considerably.
"Oh, nothing. Aunt Phoebe called me back, and gave me a bottle
of cream, is all. I shall have to carry it in my hand, I
suppose.
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