"I don't think!" he scouted.
"There's another one there to match this," Good Indian stated calmly, "and if I should walk over there after it, I'll gamble there'd be more." Wally dropped the flattened bullet, stooped, and groped for it in the litter on the floor, and when he had found it he eyed it more curiously than before.

But he would have died in his tracks rather than ask a question.
"Didn't anybody take a shot at you, as you came from the house ?" Good Indian asked when he saw the mood of the other.
"If he did, he was careful not to let me find it out." Wally's expression hardened.
"He was more careless a while ago," said Good Indian.

"Some fellow up on the bluff sent me a little morning salute.

But," he added slowly, and with some satisfaction, "he's a mighty poor shot." Jack sauntered in much as Wally had done, saw Good Indian sitting there, and wrinkled his eyes shut in a smile.
"Please, sir, I never meant a word I said!" he began, with exaggerated trepidation.

"Why the dickens didn't you murder the whole yapping bunch of us, Grant ?" He clapped his hand affectionately upon the other's shoulder.