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Bower, B. M., 1871-1940

"Good Indian"

Trouble sat upon his mind
like a dead weight, and dulled his perception, perhaps. He waved
his hand to her from the stable, and galloped down the trail to
the Point o' Rocks, and his mind, so far as Evadna was concerned,
was at ease.
Evadna, however, was crying, with her arms folded upon the top of
the gate, before the cloud which marked his passing had begun to
sprinkle the gaunt, gray sagebushes along the trail with a fresh
layer of choking dust. Jack and Wally came up, scowling at the
world and finding no words to match their gloom. Wally gave her
a glance, and went on to the blacksmith shop, but Jack went
straight up to her, for he liked her well.
"What's the matter?" he asked dully. "Mad because you can't
smoke up the ranch?"
Evadna fumbled blindly for her handkerchief, scoured her eyes
well when she found it, and put up the other hand to further
shield her face.
"Oh, the whole place is like a GRAVEYARD," she complained.
"Nobody will talk, or do anything but just wander around! I just
can't STAND it!" Which was not frank of her.


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