wheezy chuckle or his
oily reassurance--"I hereby demand that you leave this claim which
you have staked out upon Thomas Hart's ranch, and protest that your
continued presence here, after twenty-four hours have expired, will be
looked upon as malicious trespass, and treated as such."

Stanley still grinned. "As my own legal adviser," he returned calmly, "I
hereby declare that you can go plumb to HEL-ena." Stanley evidently felt
impelled to adapt his vocabulary to feminine ears, for he glanced at
them deprecatingly and as if he wished them elsewhere.

If either Stanley or Baumberger had chanced to look toward Good Indian,
he might have wondered why that young man had come, of a sudden, to
resemble so strongly his mother's people. He had that stoniness of
expression which betrays strong emotion held rigidly in check, with
which his quivering nostrils and the light in his half-shut eyes
contrasted strangely. He had missed no fleeting glance, no guarded tone,
and he was thinking and weighing and measuring every impression as
it came to him. Of some things he felt sure; of others he was half
convinced; and there was more which he only suspected. And all the
while he stood there quietly beside Evadna, his attitude almost that of
boredom.

"I think, since you have been properly notified to leave," said
Baumberger, with the indefinable air of a lawyer who gathers up his
papers relating to one case, thrusts them into his pocket, and turns his
attention to the needs of his next client, "we'll just have it out
with these other fellows, though I look upon Stanley," he added half
humorously, "as a test case. If he goes, they'll all go."

"Better say he's a TOUGH case," blurted Wally, and turned on his
heel. "What the devil are they standing around on one foot for, making
medicine?" he demanded angrily of Good Indian, who unceremoniously left
Evadna and came up with him. "I'D run him off the ranch first, and do
my talking about it afterward. That hunk uh pork is kicking up a lot uh
dust, but he ain't GETTING anywhere!"

"Exactly." Good Indian thrust both hands deep into his trousers pockets,
and stared at the ground before him.

Wally gave another snort. "I don't know how it hits you, Grant--but
there's something fishy about it."

"Ex-actly." Good Indian took one long step over the ditch, and went on
steadily.

Wally, coming again alongside, turned his head, and regarded him
attentively.

"Injun's on top," he diagnosed s