“Injun's on top,” he diagnosed sententiously after a minute. “Looks like he's putting on a good, thick layer uh war-paint, too.” He waited expectantly. “You might hand me the brush when you're through,” he hinted grimly. “I might like to get out after some scalps myself.”
“That so?” Good Indian asked inattentively, and went on without waiting for any reply. They left the garden, and went down the road to the stable, Wally passively following Grant's lead. Someone came hurrying after them, and they turned to see Jack. The others had evidently stayed to hear the legal harangue to a close.
“Say, Stanley says there's four beside the fellows we saw,” Jack announced, rather breathlessly, for he had been running through the loose, heavy soil of the garden to overtake them. “They've located twenty acres apiece, he says—staked 'em out in the night and stuck up their notices—and everyone's going to STICK. They're all going to put in grizzlies and mine the whole thing, he told dad. He just the same as accused dad right out of covering up valuable mineral land on purpose. And he says the law's all on their side.” He leaned hard against the stable, and drew his fingers across his forehead, white as a girl's when he pushed back his hat. “Baumberger,” he said cheerlessly, “was still talking injunction when I left, but—” He flung out his hand contemptuously.
“I wish dad wasn't so—” began Wally moodily, and let it go at that.
Good Indian threw up his head with that peculiar tightening of lips which meant much in the way of emotion.
“He'll listen to Baumberger, and he'll lose the ranch listening,” he stated distinctly. “If there's anything to do, we've got to do it.”
“We can run 'em off—maybe,” suggested Jack, his fighting instincts steadied by the vivid memory of four rifles held by four men, who looked thoroughly capable of using them.
“This isn't a case of apple-stealing,” Good Indian quelled sharply, and got his rope from his saddle with the manner of a man who has definitely made up his mind.
“What CAN we do, then?” Wally demanded impatiently.
“Not a thing at present.” Good Indian started for the little pasture, where Keno was feeding and switching methodically at the flies. “You fellows can do more by doing nothing to-day than if you killed off the whole bunch.”