trying to tempt a shot from the bluff. They
were much inclined to be skeptical regarding the bullet which Good
Indian carried in his breast-pocket.

"WE can't raise anybody," Wally told him disgustedly, "and I've made
three round trips myself. I'm going to quit fooling around, and go to
work."

Whether he did or not, Good Indian did not wait to prove. He did not
say anything, either, about his own plans. He was hurt most unreasonably
because of Evadna's behavior, and he felt as if he were groping about
blindfolded so far as the Hart trouble was concerned. There must be
something to do, but he could not see what it was. It reminded him oddly
of when he sat down with his algebra open before him, and scowled at
a problem where the x y z's seemed to be sprinkled through it with a
diabolical frequency, and there was no visible means of discovering what
the unknown quantities could possibly be.

He saddled Keno, and rode away in that silent preoccupation which the
boys called the sulks for want of a better understanding of it. As a
matter of fact, he was trying to put Evadna out of his mind for the
present, so that he could think clearly of what he ought to do. He
glanced often up at the rim-rock as he rode slowly to the Point o'
Rocks, and when he was halfway to the turn he thought he saw something
moving up there.

He pulled up to make sure, and a little blue ball puffed out like
a child's balloon, burst, and dissipated itself in a thin, trailing
ribbon, which the wind caught and swept to nothing. At the same time
something spatted into the trail ahead of him, sending up a little spurt
of fine sand.

Keno started, perked up his ears toward the place, and went on, stepping
gingerly. Good Indian's lips drew back, showing his teeth set tightly
together. "Still at it, eh?" he muttered aloud, pricked Keno's flanks
with his rowels, and galloped around the Point.

There, for the time being, he was safe. Unless the shooter upon the
rim-rock was mounted, he must travel swiftly indeed to reach again a
point within range of the grade road before Good Indian would pass out
of sight again. For the trail wound in and out, looping back upon itself
where the hill was oversleep, hidden part of the time from the receding
wall of rock by huge bowlders and giant sage.

Grant knew that he was safe from that quarter, and was wondering whether
he ought to ride up along the top of the bluff before going to Hartley,
as he had intended.