"Dern poor placer mining down there, if yuh want to know!" Good Indian scowled at him and rode on, because a woman rode beside him.
Seven others they passed farther up the hill.

Those seven gave him scowl for scowl, and did not speak a word; that also because a woman rode beside him.

And the woman understood, and was glad that she was there.
From the Indian camp, back in the sage-inclosed hollow, rose a sound of high-keyed wailing.

The two heard it, and looked at each other questioningly.
"Something's up over there," Good Indian said, answering her look.

"That sounds to me like the squaws howling over a death." "Let's go and see.