All, that is, save Good Indian himself, and perhaps one other.
. . . . . . . . .
Peaceful cleared his white mustache and beard from a few stray
drops of coffee and let his mild blue eyes travel slowly around
the table, from one tanned young face to another.
"Now the excitement's all over and done with," he drawled in his
half-apologetic tones, "it wouldn't be a bad idea for you boys to
get to work and throw the water back where it belongs. I dunno
but what the garden's spoiled already; but the small fruit can be
saved."
"Clark and I was going up to the Injun camp," spoke up Gene. "We
wanted to see--"
"You'll have to do some riding to get there," Good Indian
informed them dryly. "They hit the trail before sunrise this
morning."
"Huh! What were YOU doing up there that time of day?" blurted
Wally, eying him sharply.
"Watching the sun rise." His lips smiled over the retort, but
his eyes did not. "I'll lower the water in your milk-house now,
Mother Hart," he promised lightly, "so you won't have to wear
rubber-boots when you go to skim the milk.
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