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All time him think bad for yo'. All time him likum steal yo' ranch." Peaceful laughed indulgently. "You no sabe," he explained. "Him like my ranch. Him say, long time ago, pay much money for my ranch. Me no sell me like for keep all time. Baumberger good man. Him no steal my ranch. Me got one paper from government you sabe? one paper say ranch all time b'longum me all same.
Grant went to the top of the steps, and made sure that he had really gone before he said a word. Even then he sat down upon the edge of the stairway with his back to the pond, so that he could keep watch of the approaches to the spring-house; he had become an exceedingly suspicious young man overnight. "Mother Hart, on the square, what do you think of Baumberger?" he asked her abruptly.
They came to the point of making bets, at first extravagant and then growing more and more genuinely in earnest, for we're gamblers all, at heart. Miss Georgie burned a frying-panful of fish until they sent up an acrid, blue smoke, while she ran over to try her luck with a stone or two. Even Baumberger heaved himself up from where he was lounging, and strolled over to watch.
He tried to strike Good Indian down where he stood, and when his blows were parried he stopped, swayed a minute in drunken uncertainty, and then make one of his catlike motions, pulled a gun, and fired without really taking aim. Another gun spoke then, and Baumberger collapsed in the sand, a quivering heap of gross human flesh.
I wired the news to the papers in Shoshone, so he must know. I think perhaps he's glad to get Saunders out of the way for he certainly must have known enough to put Baumberger behind the bars. "But I don't see," she said, in a puzzled way, "how that gun came onto the scene. I looked all around the stable this morning, and I could swear there wasn't any gun."
Baumberger Johannes was the name he answered to when any of his family called, though to the rest of the world he was simply Baumberger was what he himself called a true sport.
Baumberger climbed heavily out of the rig, and went lurching drunkenly up the path to the house where the cool shade of the grove was like paradise set close against the boundary of the purgatory of blazing sunshine and scorching sand. He had not gone ten steps from the stable when he met Good Indian face to face. "Hullo," he growled, stopping short and eying him malevolently with lowered head.
He told the operator that he and Saunders were just practicing; they were going to be detectives, he said, and rigged up a cipher that they were learning together so they wouldn't need any codebook. Pretty thin that but you can't prove it wasn't the truth. I managed to find out that Baumberger buys cigars and papers of Jim Wakely sometimes; not always, though."
"Old Peaceful must surely have his patent Baumberger can't be much of a lawyer, do you think? Because that's a flat statement. There's no chance for any legal quibbling in that IS there?" "That's about as straight as he could put it," Good Indian agreed, his face losing a little of its anxiety.
Good Indian half turned with the saddle in his hands, and slapped it down upon its side so close to Baumberger that he took a hasty step backward, seized Keno's dragging bridle-reins, and started for the stable. Baumberger happened to be in the way, and he backed again, more hastily than before, to avoid being run over.
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