For the trail wound in and out,
looping back upon itself where the hill was oversleep, hidden
part of the time from the receding wall of rock by huge bowlders
and giant sage.
Grant knew that he was safe from that quarter, and was wondering
whether he ought to ride up along the top of the bluff before
going to Hartley, as he had intended.
He had almost reached the level, and was passing a steep, narrow,
little gully choked with rocks, when something started up so
close beside him that Keno ducked away and squatted almost upon
his haunches. His gun was in his hand, and his finger crooked
upon the trigger, when a voice he faintly recognized called to
him softly:
"Yo' no shoot--no shoot--me no hurtum. All time yo' frien'."
She stood trembling beside the trail, a gay, plaid shawl about
her shoulders in place of the usual blanket, her hair braided
smoothly with bright, red ribbons entwined through it. Her dress
was a plain slip of bright calico, which had four-inch roses,
very briery and each with a gaudy butterfly poised upon the
topmost petals running over it in an inextricable tangle.
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