bones of old John Imsen.
All around the man-made oasis of orchards and meadows, the sage and the
sand, pushed from the river by the jumble of placer pits, emphasized by
sharp contrast what man may do with the most unpromising parts of the
earth's surface, once he sets himself heart and muscle to the task.

With the deliberation of his race, Peppajee stood long minutes
motionless, gazing into the valley before he turned with a true Indian
shrug and went down into the gully, up the steep slope beyond, and
then, after picking his way through a jumble of great bowlders, came
out eventually into the dust-ridden trail of the white man. Down that he
walked, erect, swift, purposeful, his moccasins falling always with the
precision of a wild animal upon the best footing among the loose
rocks, stubs of sage-roots, or patches of deep dust and sand beside the
wagon-road, his sharp, high-featured face set in the stony calm which
may hide a tumult of elemental passions beneath and give no sign.

Where the trail curved out sharply to round the Point o' Rocks, he left
it, and kept straight on through the sage, entered a rough pass through
the huge rock tongue, and came out presently to the trail again, a scant
two hundred yards from the Hart haystacks. When he reached the stable,
he stopped and looked warily about him, but there was no sight or sound
of any there save animals, and he went on silently to the house, his
shadow stretching long upon the ground before him until it merged into
the shade of the grove beyond the gate, and so was lost for that day.

"Hello, Peppajee," called Wally over his cigarette. "Just in time for
supper."

Peppajee grunted, stopped in the path two paces from the porch, folded
his arms inside his blanket, and stood so while his eyes traveled slowly
and keenly around the group lounging at ease above him. Upon the bulky
figure of Baumberger they dwelt longest, and while he looked his face
hardened until nothing seemed alive but his eyes.

"Peppajee, this my friend, Mr. Baumberger. You heap sabe
Baumberger--come all time from Shoshone, mebbyso catchum heap many
fish." Peaceful's mild, blue eyes twinkled over his old meerschaum.
He knew the ways of Indians, and more particularly he knew the ways of
Peppajee; Baumberger, he guessed shrewdly, had failed to find favor in
his eyes.

"Huh!" grunted Peppajee non-commitally, and made no motion to
shake hands, thereby confirming Peaceful's suspicion. "Me heap sab