But he sobered when he stooped a little so that he could see her face, for there were tears in her eyes, and Miss Georgie was not the sort of young woman whom one expects to shed tears for slight cause.
"If you did it--and you must have--I don't see how you can laugh about it, even if he is a crawling reptile of a man that ought to be hung!" The tears were in her voice as well as her eyes, and there were reproach and disappointment also.
"Did what--to whom--to where, to why ?" Good Indian let go her arm, and began helpfully striving with the scraggly scrub and its prongs.

"Say, I'll just about have to scalp you to get you loose.

Would you mind very much, Squaw-talk-far-off ?" He ducked and peered into her face again, and again his face sobered.

"What's the matter ?" he asked, in an entirely different tone--which Miss Georgie, in spite of her mood, found less satisfying than his banter.
"Saunders--OUCH; I'd as soon be scalped and done with, as to have you pull out a hair at a time--Saunders crawled home with a bullet in his ribs.

And I thought--" "Saunders!" Good Indian stared down at her, his hands dropped upon her head.
Miss Georgie reached up, caught him by the wrists, and held him so while she tilted her head that she might look up at him.
"Grant!" she cried softly.