“I might want to do some swearing.” He grinned down at her, and started off.
“Now, Grant, don't you do anything rash!” Phoebe called after him sharply.
“'Don't—get—excited!'” he retorted, mimicking Baumberger.
“I'm going a little way, whether you want me to or not,” Evadna threatened, pouting more than ever.
She did go as far as the porch with him, and was kissed and sent back like a child. She did not, however, go back to her aunt, but ran into her own room, where she could look out through the grove toward the orchard—and to the stable as well, though that view did not interest her particularly at first. It was pure accident that made her witness what took place at the gate.
CHAPTER XVII. A LITTLE TARGET-PRACTICE
A grimy buck with no hat of any sort and with his hair straggling unbraided over one side of his face to conceal a tumor which grew just over his left eye like a large, ripe plum, stood outside the gate, in doubt whether to enter or remain where he was. When he saw Good Indian he grunted, fumbled in his blanket, and held out a yellowish envelope.
“Ketchum Squaw-talk-far-off,” he explained gutturally.
Good Indian took the envelope, thinking it must be a telegram, though he could not imagine who would be sending him one. His name was written plainly upon the outside, and within was a short note scrawled upon a telegraph form: