"If I had--" "She'd have wondered, maybe, what you were doing away down there in the middle of the night," Good Indian finished.

"I didn't tell a soul, either, for that matter." They left the meadowland and the broad stretch of barren sand and sage, and followed, at a leisurely pace, the winding of the trail through the scarred desolation where the earth had been washed for gold.

Evadna stared absently at the network of deep gashes, evidently meditating very seriously.

Finally she turned to Grant with an honest impulse of friendliness.
"Well, I'm sure I'm willing to bury the tomahawk--er--that is, I mean--" She blushed hotly at the slip, and stammered incoherently.
"Never mind." His eyes laughed at her confusion.

"I'm not as bad as all that; it doesn't hurt my feelings to have tomahawks mentioned in my presence." Her cheeks grew redder, if that were possible, but she made no attempt to finish what she had started to say.
Good Indian rode silent, watching her unobtrusively and wishing he knew how to bring the conversation by the most undeviating path to a certain much-desired conclusion.