e, mebbyso me no
tell me seeum Good Injun. Me tell, Good Injun go for jail; mebbyso
killum rope." She made a horrible gesture of hanging by the neck.
Afterward she grinned still more horribly. "Ketchum plenty mo' dolla, me
no tell, mebbyso."

Miss Georgie felt blindly for her chair, and when she touched it she
backed and sank into it rather heavily. She looked white and sick, and
Hagar eyed her gloatingly.

"Yo' no like for Good Injun be killum rope," she chuckled. "Yo' all time
thinkum heap bueno. Mebbyso yo' love. Yo' buy? Yo' payum much dolla?"

Miss Georgie passed a hand slowly over her eyes. She felt numb, and she
could not think, and she must think. A shuffling sound at the door made
her drop her hand and look up, but there was nothing to lighten her
oppressive sense of danger to Grant. Another squaw had appeared, was
all. A young squaw, with bright-red ribbons braided into her shining
black hair, and great, sad eyes brightening the dull copper tint of her
face.

"You no be 'fraid," she murmured shyly to Miss Georgie, and stopped
where she was just inside the door. "You no be sad. No trouble come Good
Injun. I friend."

Hagar turned, and snarled at her in short, barking words which Miss
Georgie could not understand. The young squaw folded her arms inside her
bright, plaid shawl, and listened with an indifference bordering closely
on contempt, one would judge from her masklike face. Hagar turned from
berating her, and thrust out her chin at Miss Georgie.

"I go. Sun go 'way, mebbyso I come. Mebbyso yo' heart bad. Me ketchum
much dolla yo', me no tellum, mebbyso. No ketchum, me tell sheriff mans
Good Injun all time killum Man-that-coughs." Turning, she waddled out,
jabbing viciously at the young squaw with her elbow as she passed, and
spitting out some sort of threat or command--Miss Georgie could not tell
which.

The young squaw lingered, still gazing shyly at Miss Georgie.

"You no be 'fraid," she repeated softly. "I friend. I take care. No
trouble come Good Injun. I no let come. You no be sad." She smiled
wistfully, and was gone, as silently as moved her shadow before her on
the cinders.

Miss Georgie stood by the window with her fingernails making little red
half-moons in her palms, and watched the three squaws pad out of sight
on the narrow trail to their camp, with the young squaw following after,
until only a black head could be seen bobbing over the brow of the hill.
When even that was gone, she