"Yo' Rachel's frien', yo' pikeway," he insisted doggedly.
From under the wall of the wikiup close to Good Indian on the
side farthest from Peppajee, a small, leafless branch of sage was
thrust out, and waggled cautiously, scraping gently his hand.
Good Indian's fingers closed upon it instinctively, and felt it
slowly withdrawn until his hand was pressed against the hide
wall. Then soft fingers touched his own, fluttered there
timidly, and left in his palm a bit of paper, tightly folded.
Good Indian closed his hand upon it, and stood up.
"All right, I go," he said calmly to Peppajee, and mounted.
Peppajee looked at him stolidly, and said nothing.
"One thing I would like to know." Good Indian spoke again. "You
don't care any more about the men taking Peaceful's ranch.
Before they came, you watch all the time, you heap care. Why you
no care any more? Why you no help?"
Peppajee's mouth straightened in a grin of pure irony.
"All time Baumberga try for ketchum ranch, me try for stoppum,"
he retorted.
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