advice, hey? And who the devil are you?"

"I wouldn't ask, if I were you. But if you really want to know, I'm the
fellow you hired Saunders to shoot. You blundered that time. You should
have picked a better man, Mr. Baumberger. Saunders couldn't have hit
the side of a barn if he'd been locked inside it. You ought to have made
sure--"

Baumberger glared at him, and then lunged, his eyes like an animal gone
mad.

"I'll make a better job, then!" he bellowed. "Saunders was a fool. I
told him to get down next the trail and make a good job of it. I told
him to kill you, you lying, renegade Injun--and if he couldn't, I can!
Yuh WILL watch me, hey?"

Good Indian backed from him in sheer amazement. Epithets unprintable
poured in a stream from the loose, evil lips. Baumberger was a raving
beast of a man. He would have torn the other to pieces and reveled in
the doing. He bellowed forth threats against Good Indian and the Harts,
young and old, and vaunted rashly the things he meant to do. Heat-mad
and drink-mad he was, and it was as if the dam of his wily amiability
had broken and let loose the whole vile reservoir of his pirate mind. He
tried to strike Good Indian down where he stood, and when his blows were
parried he stopped, swayed a minute in drunken uncertainty, and then
make one of his catlike motions, pulled a gun, and fired without really
taking aim.

Another gun spoke then, and Baumberger collapsed in the sand, a
quivering heap of gross human flesh. Good Indian stood and looked down
at him fixedly while the smoke floated away from the muzzle of his own
gun. He heard Evadna screaming hysterically at the gate, and looked over
there inquiringly. Phoebe was running toward him, and the boys--Wally
and Gene and Jack, from the blacksmith shop. At the corner of the stable
Miss Georgie was sliding from her saddle, her riding whip clenched
tightly in her hand as she hurried to him. Peaceful stood beside the
team, with the lines still in his hand.

It was Miss Georgie's words which reached him clearly.

"You just HAD to do it, Grant. I saw the whole thing. You HAD to."

"Oh, Grant--GRANT! What have you done? What have you done?" That was
Phoebe Hart, saying the same thing over and over with a queer, moaning
inflection in her voice.

"D'yuh KILL him?" Gene shouted excitedly, as he ran up to the spot.

"Yes." Good Indian glanced once more at the heap before him. "And I'm
liable to kill a few more before I'm through with t