orchard. He raised his free arm, and pointed imperiously to the trail.

"Pikeway!" he commanded.

Viney and Lucy shrank from the tone of him, and, hiding their faces in
a fold of blanket, slunk silently away like dogs that have been whipped
and told to go. Even Hagar drew back a pace, hardy as was her untamed
spirit. She looked at Evadna clinging to his arm, her eyes wide and
startlingly blue and horrified at all she had heard. She laughed
then--did Hagar--and waddled after the others, her whole body seeming to
radiate contentment with the evil she had wrought.

"There's nothing on earth can equal the malice of an old squaw," said
Phoebe, breaking into the silence which followed. "I'd hope she don't go
around peddling that story--not that anyone would believe it, but--"

Good Indian looked at her, and at Evadna. He opened his lips for speech,
and closed them without saying a word. That near he came to telling them
the truth about meeting Miss Georgie, and explaining about the hair and
the knife and the footprints Hagar had prated about. But he thought of
Rachel, and knew that he would never tell anyone, not even Evadna. The
girl loosened his arm, and moved toward her aunt.

"I hate Indians--squaws especially," she said positively. "I hate the
way they look at one with their beady eyes, just like snakes. I believe
that horrid old thing lies awake nights just thinking up nasty, wicked
lies to tell about the people she doesn't like. I don't think you ought
to ride around alone so much, Grant; she might murder you. It's in her
to do it, if she ever got the chance."

"What do you suppose made her ring Georgie Howard in like that?" Phoebe
speculated, looking at Grant. "She must have some grudge against her,
too."

"I don't know why." Good Indian spoke unguardedly, because he was still
thinking of Rachel and those laboriously printed words which he had
scattered afar. "She's always giving them candy and fruit, whenever they
show up at the station."

"Oh--h!" Evadna gave the word that peculiar, sliding inflection of
hers which meant so much, and regarded him unwinkingly, with her hands
clasped behind her.

Good Indian knew well the meaning of both her tone and her stare, but he
only laughed and caught her by the arm.

"Come on over to the hammock," he commanded, with all the arrogance of a
lover. "We're making that old hag altogether too important, it seems to
me. Come on, Goldilocks--we haven't had a real satisfyin