"
"I notice you're packing yours, large as life," Jack pointed out.
"Maybe you're just wearing it for an ornament, though."
"Sure!" Good Indian, feeling all at once the utter futility of
standing there talking, left them grumbling over their forced
inaction, without explaining where he was going, or what he meant
to do. Indeed, he scarcely knew himself. He was in that
uncomfortable state of mind where one feels that one must do
something, without having the faintest idea of what that
something is, or how it is to be done. It seemed to him that
they were all in the same mental befuddlement, and it seemed
impossible to stay on the ranch another hour without making a
hostile move of some sort--and he knew that, when he did make a
move, he at least ought to know why he did it.
The note in his pocket gave him an excuse for action of some
sort, even though he felt sure that nothing would come of it; at
least, he thought, he would have a chance to discuss the thing
with Miss Georgie again--and while he was not a man who must have
everything put into words, he had found comfort and a certain
clarity of thought in talking with her.
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