"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."
He came back in a few minutes with his horse, and found the two
still moodily discussing the thing. He glanced at them casually,
and went about the business of saddling.
"Where you going?" asked Wally abruptly, when Grant was looping
up the end of his latigo.
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