"I don't think!" he
scouted.
"There's another one there to match this," Good Indian stated
calmly, "and if I should walk over there after it, I'll gamble
there'd be more."
Wally dropped the flattened bullet, stooped, and groped for it in
the litter on the floor, and when he had found it he eyed it more
curiously than before. But he would have died in his tracks
rather than ask a question.
"Didn't anybody take a shot at you, as you came from the house?"
Good Indian asked when he saw the mood of the other.
"If he did, he was careful not to let me find it out." Wally's
expression hardened.
"He was more careless a while ago," said Good Indian. "Some
fellow up on the bluff sent me a little morning salute. But," he
added slowly, and with some satisfaction, "he's a mighty poor
shot."
Jack sauntered in much as Wally had done, saw Good Indian sitting
there, and wrinkled his eyes shut in a smile.
"Please, sir, I never meant a word I said!" he began, with
exaggerated trepidation.
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