But Rachel, when he reached the camp, was not visible. Peppajee Jim was sitting peacefully in the shade of his wikiup when Grant rode up, and he merely grunted in reply to a question or two.
Good Indian resolved to be patient. He dismounted, and squatted upon his heels beside Peppajee, offered him tobacco, and dipped a shiny, new nickel toward a bright-eyed papoose in scanty raiment, who stopped to regard him inquisitively.
"I just saw them bury Saunders," Good Indian remarked, by way of opening a conversation. "You believe he shot himself?"Peppajee took his little stone pipe from his lips, blew a thin wreath of smoke, and replaced the stem between his teeth, stared stolidly straight ahead of him, and said nothing.
"All the white men say that," Good Indian persisted, after he had waited a minute. Peppajee did not seem to hear.
"Sheriff say that, too. Sheriff found the gun.""Mebbyso sheriff mans heap damfool. Mebbyso heap smart. No sabe."Good Indian studied him silently. Reticence was not a general characteristic of Peppajee; it seemed to indicate a thorough understanding of the whole affair. He wondered if Rachel had told her uncle the truth.
"Where's Rachel?" he asked suddenly, the words following involuntarily his thought.
Peppajee sucked hard upon his pipe, took it away from his mouth, and knocked out the ashes upon a pole of the wikiup frame.
"Yo' no speakum Rachel no more," he said gravely. "Yo' ketchum 'Vadnah; no ketchum otha squaw. Bad medicine come. Heap much troubles come. Me no likeum. My heart heap bad.""I'm Rachel's friend, Peppajee." Good Indian spoke softly so that others might not hear. "I sabe what Rachel do. Rachel good girl. I don't want to bring trouble. I want to help."Peppajee snorted.
"Yo' make heap bad heart for Rachel," he said sourly. "Yo' like for be friend, yo' no come no more, mebbyso. No speakum. Bimeby mebbyso no have bad heart no more. Kay bueno. Yo' white mans.
Rachel mebbyso thinkum all time yo' Indian. Mebbyso thinkum be yo' squaw. Kay bueno. Yo' all time white mans. No speakum Rachel no more, yo' be friend.
Yo' speakum, me like to kill yo', mebbyso." He spoke calmly, but none the less his words carried conviction of his sincerity.
Within the wikiup Good Indian heard a smothered sob. He listened, heard it again, and looked challengingly at Peppajee.
But Peppajee gave no sign that he either heard the sound or saw the challenge in Good Indian's eyes.
"I Rachel's friend," he said, speaking distinctly with his face half turned toward the wall of deerskin. "I want to tell Rachel what the sheriff said. I want to thank Rachel, and tell her I'm her friend. I don't want to bring trouble." He stopped and listened, but there was no sound within.
Peppajee eyed him comprehendingly, but there was no yielding in his brown, wrinkled face.
"Yo' Rachel's frien', yo' pikeway," he insisted doggedly.
From under the wall of the wikiup close to Good Indian on the side farthest from Peppajee, a small, leafless branch of sage was thrust out, and waggled cautiously, scraping gently his hand.
Good Indian's fingers closed upon it instinctively, and felt it slowly withdrawn until his hand was pressed against the hide wall. Then soft fingers touched his own, fluttered there timidly, and left in his palm a bit of paper, tightly folded.
Good Indian closed his hand upon it, and stood up.
"All right, I go," he said calmly to Peppajee, and mounted.
Peppajee looked at him stolidly, and said nothing.
"One thing I would like to know." Good Indian spoke again. "You don't care any more about the men taking Peaceful's ranch.
Before they came, you watch all the time, you heap care. Why you no care any more? Why you no help?"Peppajee's mouth straightened in a grin of pure irony.
"All time Baumberga try for ketchum ranch, me try for stoppum,"he retorted. "Yo' no b'lievum, Peacefu' no b'lievum. Me tellum yo' cloud sign, tellum yo' smoke sign, tellum yo' hear much bad talk for ketchum ranch. Yo' all time think for ketchum 'Vadnah squaw. No think for stoppum mens. Yo' all time let mens come, ketchum ranch. Yo' say fightum in co't. Cloud sign say me do notting. Yo' lettum come. Yo' mebbyso makum go. Me no care.""I see. Well, maybe you're right." He tightened the reins, and rode away, the tight little wad of paper still hidden in his palm. When he was quite out of sight from the camp and jogging leisurely down the hot trail, he unfolded it carefully and looked at it long.
His face was grave and thoughtful when at last he tore it into tiny bits and gave it to the hot, desert wind. It was a pitiful little message, printed laboriously upon a scrap of brown wrapping--paper. It said simply:
"God by i lov yo."
