But
there'll be an investigation--and Baumberger, I suspect, will be
just as willing to get you in this way as in any other. More so,
maybe. Because a murder is always awkward to handle."
"I can't see why he should want to murder me." Good Indian took
her hands away from her hair, and set himself again to the work
of freeing her. "You've been fudging around till you've got
about ten million more hairs wound up," he grumbled.
"Wow! ARE you deliberately torturing me?" she complained, winking
with the pain of his good intentions. "I don't believe he does
want to murder you. I think that was just Saunders trying to
make a dandy good job of it. He doesn't like you,
anyway--witness the way you bawled him out that day you
roped--ow-w!--roped the dog. Baumberger may have wanted him to
keep an eye on you--My Heavens, man! Do you think you're plucking
a goose?"
"I wouldn't be surprised," he retorted, grinning a little.
"Honest! I'm trying to go easy, but this infernal bush has sure
got a strangle hold on you--and your hair is so fluffy it's a
deuce of a job.
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