The squaw was moving about within the hut, collecting the pitifully few belongings which Lucy Lily had disdained to steal.

An Indian does not like to stay where one has died.
Casey could overtake Lucy Lily, if he walked fast and did not stop when dark fell, but he did not want to overtake her.

He was not alarmed at her threat of the sheriff, but he did not want to see her again or hear her or think of her.
So Casey tore up the note and went and begged a little food from Hahnaga; then he broached the subject of the gold mine.

The squaw listened, looking at him with dull black eyes and a face like a stamped-leather portrait of an Indian.

She shook her head and pointed down the gulch.
"No find gol', bad girl.