I looked all around the stable this morning, and I could swear there wasn't any gun." "Well, he did pick it up--fortunately," Good Indian returned grimly.
"I'm glad the thing was settled so easily." She looked up at him sharply for a moment, opened her lips to ask a question, and then thought better of it.
"Oh, here's your handkerchief," she said quietly, taking it from the bottom of her wastebasket.

"As you say, the thing is settled.

I'm going to turn you out now.

The four-thirty-five is due pretty soon--and I have oodles of work." He looked at her strangely, and went away, wondering why Miss Georgie hated so to have him in the office lately.
On the next day, at ten o'clock, they buried Saunders on a certain little knoll among the sagebrush; buried him without much ceremony, it is true, but with more respect than he had received when he was alive and shambling sneakily among them.

Good Indian was there, saying little and listening attentively to the comments made upon the subject, and when the last bit of yellow gravel had been spatted into place he rode down through the Indian camp on his way home, thankful that everyone seemed to accept the verdict of suicide as being final, and anxious that Rachel should know it.