But in the meantime he need only think.
The shadow of the grove, with the long fingers of the poplars to point the way, climbed slowly up the bluff.

Good Indian smoked another cigarette while he watched it.

When a certain great bowlder that was like a miniature ledge glowed rosily and then slowly darkened to a chill gray, he threw his cigarette stub unerringly at a lily-pad which had courtesied many a time before to a like missile from his hand, pulled his hat down over his eyes, jumped off the porch, and started around the house to the gate which led to the stable.
Phoebe came out from the sitting-room, ran down the steps, and barred his way.
"Grant!" she said, and there were tears in her eyes, "don't do anything rash--don't.

If it's for our sakes--and I know it is--don't do it.
They'll go, anyway.

We'll have the law on them and make them go.