"If I don't know it,
I can't tell it." He paused in his lifting and rested his hands
upon his knees, the fingers dripping water back into the spring.
He felt that Phoebe was waiting, and he pressed his lips
together. "Must a man be in love with some woman all the time?"
He shook his fingers impatiently so that the last drops hurried
to the pool.
"She's a good girl, and a brave girl," Phoebe remarked
irrelevantly.
Good Indian felt that she was still waiting, with all the quiet
persistence of her sex when on the trail of a romance. He
reached up and caught the hand upon his shoulder, and laid it
against his cheek. He laughed surrender.
"Squaw-talk-far-off heap smart," he mimicked old Peppajee
gravely. "Heap bueno." He stood up as suddenly as he had
started his rock-lifting a few minutes before, and taking Phoebe
by the shoulders, shook her with gentle insistence. "Put don't
make me fall out of one love right into another," he protested
whimsically. "Give a fellow time to roll a cigarette, can't
you?"
End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Good Indian by B.
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