Good Indian was thinking how barren had been his talk with
Peppajee, and was realizing keenly how much he had expected from
the interview. It is frequently by the depth of our
disappointment only that we can rightly measure the height of
our hope. He had come to Peppajee for something tangible, some
thing that might be called real evidence of the conspiracy he
suspected. He had got nothing but suspicion to match his own.
As for Miss Georgie Howard--
"What can she do?" he thought resentfully, feeling as if he had
been offered a willow switch with which to fight off a grizzly.
It seemed to him that he might as sensibly go to Evadna herself
for assistance, and that, even his infatuation was obliged to
admit, would be idiotic. Peppajee, he told himself when he
reached his horse, was particularly foolish sometimes.
With that in his mind, he mounted--and turned Keno's head toward
Hartley. The distance was not great--little more than half a
mile--but when he swung from the saddle in the square blotch of
shade east by the little, red station house upon the parched sand
and cinders, Keno's flanks were heaving like the silent sobbing
of a woman with the pace his master's spurred heels had required
of him.
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