Seven others they passed farther up the hill. Those
seven gave him scowl for scowl, and did not speak a word; that
also because a woman rode beside him. And the woman understood,
and was glad that she was there.
From the Indian camp, back in the sage-inclosed hollow, rose a
sound of high-keyed wailing. The two heard it, and looked at
each other questioningly.
"Something's up over there," Good Indian said, answering her
look. "That sounds to me like the squaws howling over a death."
"Let's go and see. I'm so late now, a few minutes more won't
matter, one way or the other." Miss Georgie pulled out her
watch, looked at it, and made a little grimace. So they turned
into the winding trail, and rode into the camp.
There were confusion, and wailing, and a buzzing of squaws around
a certain wikiup. Dogs sat upon their haunches, and howled
lugubriously until someone in passing kicked them into yelping
instead. Papooses stood nakedly about, and regarded the uproar
solemnly, running to peer into the wikiup and then scamper back
to their less hardy fellows.
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