Her hands
dropped to the plump shoulder of the sitter. "Aunt Phoebe,
there's a man down at the farther end of the strawberry patch!
He's got a gun, Aunt Phoebe, and he's camped there, and when he
heard me he jumped up and pointed the gun straight at me!"
"Why, honey, that can't be--you must have seen an Indian prowling
after windfalls off the apricot trees there. He wouldn't hurt
you." Phoebe reached up, and caught the hands in a reassuring
clasp.
Evadna's eyes strayed from one face to another around the table
till they rested upon Good Indian, as having found sanctuary
there.
"But, Aunt Phoebe, he was WASN'T. He was a white man. And he
has a camp there, right by that tree the lightning peeled the
bark off. I was close before I saw him, for he was sitting down
and the currant bushes were between. But I went through to get
round where Uncle Hart has been irrigating and it's all mud, and
he jumped up and pointed the gun AT me. Just as if he was going
to shoot me.
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