"Him walk still all time, go all time ova there." He swept his arm toward the meadows.

"Me go still, for watchum.

Yo' come, mebbyso make heap much noise--kay bueno.

Dat mans, him hear, him heap scare.
Me tellum, yo' mebbyso go still." He folded his arms with a gesture of finality, and stood statue-like in the deep gloom beside the rock.
Good Indian fingered his horse's mane while he considered the queer story.

There must be something in it, he thought, to bring Peppajee from his blankets at midnight and to impel him, unfriendly as he usually seemed, to confide his worry to him at once and without urging.