"And I wish to the Lord he'd stay where he's at." But Good Indian was already two paces from the door, coming steadily up the path, neither faster nor slower than usual, with his eyes taking in every object within sight as he went, and his thumb hooked inside his belt, near where his gun swung at his hip.

It was not until his free hand was upon the gate that lack and Wally knew they had been holding their breath.
"Well--here I am," said Good Indian, after a minute, smiling down at them with the sunny look in his eyes.

"I'm beginning to think I had a dream.

Only"-- he dipped his fingers into the pocket of his shirt and brought up the flattened bullet--"that is pretty blamed realistic--for a dream." His eyes searched involuntarily the rim-rock with a certain incredulity, as if he could not bring himself to believe in that bullet, after all.
"But two of the jumpers are gone," said Wally.

"I reckon we stirred 'em up some yesterday, and they're trying to get back at us." "They've picked a dandy place," Good Indian observed.