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Bower, B. M., 1871-1940

"Good Indian"

You did what a man would do for his
friend. I sabe. I'm heap grateful, and I'll not forget it. All
time I'll be your friend. Good--by." He mounted, and rode away.
He felt, just then, that it was the kindest thing he could do.
He looked back once, just as he was turning into the grade road.
She was standing, her arms folded in her gray blanket, where he
had left her. His fingers tightened involuntarily the reins, so
that Keno stopped and eyed his master inquiringly. But there was
nothing that he might say to her. It was not words that she
wanted. He swung his heels against Keno's flanks, and rode home.
Evadna rallied him upon his moodiness at breakfast, pouted a
little because he remained preoccupied under her teasing, and
later was deeply offended because he would not tell her where he
had been, or what was worrying him.

"I guess you better send word to the doctor he needn't come," the
pump man put his head in at the office door to say, just as the
freight was pulling away from the water-tank.


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