He felt rather queer about Rachel; sorry
for her, in an impersonal way; curious over her attitude toward
life in general and toward himself in particular, and ready to do
her a good turn because of her interest.
But Rachel, when he reached the camp, was not visible. Peppajee
Jim was sitting peacefully in the shade of his wikiup when Grant
rode up, and he merely grunted in reply to a question or two.
Good Indian resolved to be patient. He dismounted, and squatted
upon his heels beside Peppajee, offered him tobacco, and dipped a
shiny, new nickel toward a bright-eyed papoose in scanty raiment,
who stopped to regard him inquisitively.
"I just saw them bury Saunders," Good Indian remarked, by way of
opening a conversation. "You believe he shot himself?"
Peppajee took his little stone pipe from his lips, blew a thin
wreath of smoke, and replaced the stem between his teeth, stared
stolidly straight ahead of him, and said nothing.
"All the white men say that," Good Indian persisted, after he had
waited a minute.
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