And--about Saunders-- don't worry. I can get to the ranch
without being seen, and no one will know I was up here, unless
you tell them."
"Oh, I shall of course!" Miss Georgie chose to be very sarcastic.
"I think I shall wire the information to the sheriff. Don't come
with me--and leave tracks all over the country. Keep on the
lava rock. Haven't you got any sense at all?"
"You made tracks yourself, madam, and you've left a fine lot of
incriminating evidence on that bush. I'll have to waste an hour
picking off the hair, so they won't accuse you of shooting
Saunders." Good Indian spoke lightly, but they both stopped,
nevertheless, and eyed the offending bush anxiously.
"You haven't time," Miss Georgie decided. "I can easily get
around that, if it's put up to me. You go on back. Really, you
must!" her eyes implored him.
"Oh, vey-ree well. We haven't met this morning. Good-by,
Squaw-talk-far-off. I'll see you later, perhaps."
Miss Georgie still had that freight heavy on her conscience, but
she stood and watched him stoop under an overhanging branch and
turn his head to smile reassuringly back at her; then, with a
pungent stirring of sage odors, the bushes closed in behind him,
and it was as if he had never been there at all.
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