Stanley squinted up at the sun, hitched
himself up so that his back rested against the tree more
comfortably, inspected his cigarette, and then fumbled for a
match with which to relight it. "How'd you find out Baumberger
was back uh this deal?" he asked curiously and without any
personal resentment in tone or manner, and raked the match along
his thigh.
Good Indian's shoulders went up a little.
"I knew, and that's sufficient. The dead line is down past the
Point o' Rocks. After sundown this ranch is going to hold the
Harts and their friends--and NO ONE ELSE. Tell that to your
pals, unless you've got a grudge against them!"
Stanley held his cigarette between his fingers, and blew smoke
through his nostrils while he watched Good Indian turn his back
and walk away. He did not easily lose his hold of himself, and
this was, with him, a cold business proposition.
Miss Georgie stood where she was until she saw that Stanley did
not intend to shoot Good Indian in the back, as he might have
done easily enough, and followed so quickly that she soon came up
with him.
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