You keep wriggling and getting it caught in new
places. If you could only manage to stand still--but I suppose
you can't.
"By the way," he remarked casually, after a short silence, save
for an occasional squeal from Miss Georgie, "speaking of
Saunders--I didn't shoot him."
Miss Georgie looked up at him, to the further entanglement of her
hair. "You DIDN'T? Then who did?"
"Search ME," he offered figuratively and briefly.
"Well, I will." Miss Georgie spoke with a certain decisiveness,
and reaching out a sage-soiled hand, took his gun from the
holster at his hip. He shrank away with a man's instinctive
dislike of having anyone make free with his weapons, but it was
a single movement, which he controlled instantly.
"Stand still, can't you?" he admonished, and kept at work while
she examined the gun with a dexterity and ease of every motion
which betrayed her perfect familiarity with firearms. She
snapped the cylinder into place, sniffed daintily at the end of
the barrel, and slipped the gun back into its scabbard.
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