They were much
inclined to be skeptical regarding the bullet which Good Indian
carried in his breast-pocket.
"WE can't raise anybody," Wally told him disgustedly, "and I've
made three round trips myself. I'm going to quit fooling around,
and go to work."
Whether he did or not, Good Indian did not wait to prove. He did
not say anything, either, about his own plans. He was hurt most
unreasonably because of Evadna's behavior, and he felt as if he
were groping about blindfolded so far as the Hart trouble was
concerned. There must be something to do, but he could not see
what it was. It reminded him oddly of when he sat down with his
algebra open before him, and scowled at a problem where the x y
z's seemed to be sprinkled through it with a diabolical
frequency, and there was no visible means of discovering what the
unknown quantities could possibly be.
He saddled Keno, and rode away in that silent preoccupation which
the boys called the sulks for want of a better understanding of
it.
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