Didn't think anything of
that--thought maybe he was hunting or going fishing--but he's
been sneakin' around behind me ever since. I don't reckon he's
after my scalp--not enough hair to pay--but I'd like to know what
the dickens he does mean."
"Nothing probably," Good Indian told him shortly, his eyes
nevertheless searching the rocks for a sight of the watcher.
"Well, I don't much like the idea," complained Baumberger,
casting an eye aloft in fear of snagging his line when he made
another cast. "He was right up there a few minutes ago." He
pointed his rod toward a sun-ridden ridge above them. "I got a
flicker of his green blanket when he raised up and scowled down
at me. He ducked when he saw me turn my head--looked to me like
the surly buck that blew in to the ranch the night I came; Jim
something-or-other. By the great immortal Jehosaphat!" he swore
humorously, "I'd like to tie him up in his dirty blanket and
heave him into the river--only it would kill all the fish in the
Malad.
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