“Oh, I shall of course!” Miss Georgie chose to be very sarcastic. “I think I shall wire the information to the sheriff. Don't come with me--and leave tracks all over the country. Keep on the lava rock. Haven't you got any sense at all?” “You made tracks yourself, madam, and you've left a fine lot of incriminating evidence on that bush. I'll have to waste an hour picking off the hair, so they won't accuse you of shooting Saunders.” Good Indian spoke lightly, but they both stopped, nevertheless, and eyed the offending bush anxiously. “You haven't time,” Miss Georgie decided. “I can easily get around that, if it's put up to me. You go on back. Really, you must!” her eyes implored him. “Oh, vey-ree well. We haven't met this morning. Good-by, Squaw-talk-far-off. I'll see you later, perhaps.” Miss Georgie still had that freight heavy on her conscience, but she stood and watched him stoop under an overhanging branch and turn his head to smile reassuringly back at her; then, with a pungent stirring of sage odors, the bushes closed in behind him, and it was as if he had never been there at all. Whereupon Miss Georgie once more gathered her skirts together and ran to the trail, and down that to the station. She met a group of squaws, who eyed her curiously, but she was looking once more at her watch, and paid no attention, although they stood huddled in the trail staring after her. She remembered that she had left the office unlocked and she rushed in, and sank panting into the chair before her telegraph table just as the smoke of the fast freight swirled around the nose of the low, sage-covered hill to the west. CHAPTER XXII. A BIT OF PAPER Good Indian came out upon the rim-rock, looked down upon the ranch beneath him, and knew, by various little movements about the place, that breakfast was not yet ready. Gene was carrying two pails of milk to the house, and Wally and Jack were watering the horses that had been stabled overnight. He was on the point of shouting down to them when his arm was caught tightly from behind. He wheeled about and confronted Rachel. Clothed all in dull gray she was, like a savage young Quakeress. Even the red ribbons were gone from her hair, which was covered by the gray blanket wrapped tightly around her slim body. She drew him back from the rim of the bluff. “You no shout,” she murmured gravely. “No lettum see you here. You go quick. Ketchum you cayuse, go to ranch. You no tellum you be this place.” Good Indian stood still, and looked at her. She stood with her arms folded in her blanket, regarding him with a certain yearning steadfastness. “You all time think why,” she said, shrewdly reading his thoughts, “I no take shame. I glad.” She flushed, and looked away to the far side of the Snake. “Bad mans no more try for shoot you, mebbyso. I heap--” Good Indian reached out, and caught her by both shoulders.