Makeum camp. One man put sticks in ground, say
that part belong him. Twenty acres." He flung up his hands,
lowered them, and immediately raised them again. "Eight men do
that all same. Have guns, grub, blankets--stop there all time.
Say they wash gold. Say that ranch have much gold, stake placer
claims. Baumberger"--he saw Peppajee's eyelids draw
together--"tell men to go away. Tell Peaceful he fight those
men--in court. You sabe~ Ask Great Father to tell those men they
go away, no wash gold on ranch." He waited.
There is no hurrying the speech of an Indian. Peppajee smoked
stolidly, his eyes half closed and blinking sleepily. The veneer
of white men's ways dropped from him when he entered his own
wikiup, and he would not speak quickly.
"Las' night--mebbyso yo' watchum?" he asked, as one who holds his
judgment in abeyance.
"I heap fool. I no watch. I let those men come while I think
of--a girl. My eyes sleep." Good Indian was too proud to parry,
too bitter with himself to deny.
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