he think I AM?" She leaned against the wall,
and sobbed.

"I suppose," she wailed, lashing herself with every bitter thought
she could conjure, "he killed Saunders, too, like old Hagar said. He
wouldn't tell me where he was that morning. I asked him, and he wouldn't
tell. He was up there killing Saunders--"

"If you don't shut up, I'll shake you!" Miss Georgie in her fury did not
wait, but shook her anyway as if she had been a ten-year-old child in a
tantrum.

"My Heavens above! I'll stand for nerves and hysterics, and almost any
old thing, but you're going a little bit too far, my lady. There's no
excuse for your talking such stuff as that, and you're not going to
do it, if I have to gag you! Now, you march to your own room and--STAY
there. Do you hear? And don't you dare let another yip out of you till
you can talk sense."

Good Indian stood upon the porch, and heard every word of that. He heard
also the shuffle of feet as Miss Georgie urged Evadna to her room--it
sounded almost as if she dragged her there by force--and he rolled a
cigarette with fingers that did not so much as quiver. He scratched a
match upon the nearest post, and afterward leaned there and smoked,
and stared out over the pond and up at the bluff glowing yellow in
the sunlight. His face was set and expressionless except that it was
stoically calm, and there was a glitter deep down in his eyes. Evadna
was right, to a certain extent the Indian in him held him quiet.

It occurred to him that someone ought to pick up Baumberger, and put him
somewhere, but he did not move. The boys and Peaceful must have stayed
down in the garden, he thought. He glanced up at the tops of the nodding
poplars, and estimated idly by their shadow on the bluff how long it
would be before sundown, and as idly wondered if Stanley and the others
would go, or stay. There was nothing they could gain by staying, he
knew, now that Baumberger was out of it. Unless they got stubborn
and wanted to fight. In that case, he supposed he would eventually be
planted alongside his father. He wished he could keep the boys and old
Peaceful out of it, in case there was a fight, but he knew that would be
impossible. The boys, at least, had been itching for something like this
ever since the trouble started.

Good Indian had, not so long ago, spent hours in avoiding all thought
that he might prolong the ecstasy of mere feeling. Now he had reversed
the desire. He was thinking of this thing