"It
wasn't just a tangle, like combings," she went on slowly. "I
noticed particularly. There was a lock as large almost as my
finger, that looked as if it had been cut off. And it certainly
WAS Georgie's hair."
"Georgie's hair," Good Indian smilingly asserted, "doesn't
interest me a little bit. Maybe Hagar scalped Miss Georgie to
get it. If it had been goldy, I'd have taken it away from her if
I had to annihilate the whole tribe, but seeing it wasn't YOUR
hair--"
Well, the argument as such was a poor one, to say the least, but
it had the merit of satisfying Evadna as mere logic could not
have done, and seemed to allay as well all the doubt that had
been accumulating for days past in her mind. But an hour spent
in a hammock in the shadiest part of the grove could not wipe out
all memory of the past few days, nor quiet the uneasiness which
had come to be Good Indian's portion.
"I've got to go up on the hill again right after dinner,
Squaw-with-sun-hair," he told her at last.
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