red stolidly straight
ahead of him, and said nothing.

"All the white men say that," Good Indian persisted, after he had waited
a minute. Peppajee did not seem to hear.

"Sheriff say that, too. Sheriff found the gun."

"Mebbyso sheriff mans heap damfool. Mebbyso heap smart. No sabe."

Good Indian studied him silently. Reticence was not a general
characteristic of Peppajee; it seemed to indicate a thorough
understanding of the whole affair. He wondered if Rachel had told her
uncle the truth.

"Where's Rachel?" he asked suddenly, the words following involuntarily
his thought.

Peppajee sucked hard upon his pipe, took it away from his mouth, and
knocked out the ashes upon a pole of the wikiup frame.

"Yo' no speakum Rachel no more," he said gravely. "Yo' ketchum 'Vadnah;
no ketchum otha squaw. Bad medicine come. Heap much troubles come. Me no
likeum. My heart heap bad."

"I'm Rachel's friend, Peppajee." Good Indian spoke softly so that others
might not hear. "I sabe what Rachel do. Rachel good girl. I don't want
to bring trouble. I want to help."

Peppajee snorted.

"Yo' make heap bad heart for Rachel," he said sourly. "Yo' like for be
friend, yo' no come no more, mebbyso. No speakum. Bimeby mebbyso no have
bad heart no more. Kay bueno. Yo' white mans. Rachel mebbyso thinkum all
time yo' Indian. Mebbyso thinkum be yo' squaw. Kay bueno. Yo' all time
white mans. No speakum Rachel no more, yo' be friend.

"Yo' speakum, me like to kill yo', mebbyso." He spoke calmly, but none
the less his words carried conviction of his sincerity.

Within the wikiup Good Indian heard a smothered sob. He listened, heard
it again, and looked challengingly at Peppajee. But Peppajee gave
no sign that he either heard the sound or saw the challenge in Good
Indian's eyes.

"I Rachel's friend," he said, speaking distinctly with his face half
turned toward the wall of deerskin. "I want to tell Rachel what the
sheriff said. I want to thank Rachel, and tell her I'm her friend. I
don't want to bring trouble." He stopped and listened, but there was no
sound within.

Peppajee eyed him comprehendingly, but there was no yielding in his
brown, wrinkled face.

"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 i