You're all stirred up
over something. What's wrong?" Miss Georgie would have spoken in
just that tone if she had been a man or if Grant had been a
woman.
So Good Indian told her.
"And you imagine that it's partly your fault, and that it
wouldn't have happened if you had spent more time keeping your
weather eye open, and not so much making love?" Miss Georgie
could be very blunt, as well as keen. "Well, I don't see how you
could prevent it, or what you could have done--unless you had
kicked old Baumberger into the Snake. He's the god in this
machine. I'd swear to that."
Good Indian had been fiddling with his hat and staring hard at a
pile of old ties just outside the window. He raised his head,
and regarded her steadily. It was beginning to occur to him
that there was a good deal to this Miss Georgie, under that
offhand, breezy exterior. He felt himself drawn to her as a
person whom he could trust implicitly.
"You're right as far as I'm concerned," he owned, with his queer,
inscrutable smile.
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