"Just like they do for a new street, or a
railroad, or something. And--"
Good Indian pushed back his chair with a harsh, scraping noise,
and rose. He was staring hard at Baumberger, and his whole face
had sharpened till it had the cold, unyielding look of an Indian.
And suddenly Baumberger raised his head and met full that look.
For two breaths their eyes held each other, and then Baumberger
glanced casually at Peaceful.
"Sounds queer--must be some mistake, though. You must have seen
something, girl, that reminded you of stakes. The stub off a
sagebrush maybe?" He ogled her quite frankly. "When a little
girl gets scared--Sick the dogs on him," he advised the family
collectively, his manner changing to a blustering anxiety that
her fright should be avenged.
Evadna seemed to take his tone as a direct challenge. "I was
scared, but I know quite well what I saw. He wasn't a tramp. He
had a regular camp, with a coffee-pot and frying-pan and
blankets. And there a line of stakes across the strawberry
patch.
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