We got a couple of danged fine women in this
here bunch, and I shore do hate to see things goin' on around here that'd
shame 'em if they was to find it out. And fur's I can see they will find it
out, sooner or later. Murder ain't the only kinda wickedness that's hard to
cover up. I know you feel about as I do on some subjects; you never did like
dirt around you, no better'n--"
"Get to the point, man. What's wrong?"
So Applehead, turning a darker shade of red than was his usual hue, cleared
his throat and blurted out what he had to say. He had heard Shunka Chistala
whinnying at midnight in the tent of Annie-Many-Ponies, and had gone outside
to see what was the matter. He didn't know, he explained, but what his cat
Compadre was somehow involved. He had stood in the shadow of his tent for a
few minutes, and had seen Bill Holmes sneak into camp, coming from up the
arroyo somewhere.
For some reason he waited a little longer, and he had seen a woman's shadow
move stealthily up to the front of Annie's tent, and had seen Annie slip
inside and had heard her whisper a command of some sort to the dog, which had
immediately hushed its whining. He hated to be telling tales on anybody, but
he knew how keenly Luck felt his responsibility toward the Indian girl, and he
thought he ought to know.
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