"If I had--"
"She'd have wondered, maybe, what you were doing away down there
in the middle of the night," Good Indian finished. "I didn't
tell a soul, either, for that matter."
They left the meadowland and the broad stretch of barren sand and
sage, and followed, at a leisurely pace, the winding of the trail
through the scarred desolation where the earth had been washed
for gold. Evadna stared absently at the network of deep gashes,
evidently meditating very seriously. Finally she turned to
Grant with an honest impulse of friendliness.
"Well, I'm sure I'm willing to bury the tomahawk--er--that is, I
mean--" She blushed hotly at the slip, and stammered
incoherently.
"Never mind." His eyes laughed at her confusion. "I'm not as
bad as all that; it doesn't hurt my feelings to have tomahawks
mentioned in my presence."
Her cheeks grew redder, if that were possible, but she made no
attempt to finish what she had started to say.
Good Indian rode silent, watching her unobtrusively and wishing
he knew how to bring the conversation by the most undeviating
path to a certain much-desired conclusion.
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