I'd Just As Soon Hang For Nine Men As For One

Baumberger climbed heavily out of the rig, and went lurching drunkenly up the path to the house where the cool shade of the grove was like paradise set close against the boundary of the purgatory of blazing sunshine and scorching sand. He had not gone ten steps from the stable when he met Good Indian face to face.

"Hullo," he growled, stopping short and eying him malevolently with lowered head.

Good Indian's lips curled silently, and he stepped aside to pursue his way. Baumberger swung his huge body toward him.

"I said HULLO. Nothin' wrong in that, is there? HULLO--d'yuh hear?"

"Go to the devil!" said Grant shortly.

Baumberger leered at him offensively. "Pretty Polly! Never learned but one set uh words in his life. Can't yuh say anything but 'Go to the devil!' when a man speaks to yuh? Hey?"

"I could say a whole lot that you wouldn't be particularly glad to hear." Good Indian stopped, and faced him, coldly angry. For one thing, he knew that Evadna was waiting on the porch for him, and could see even if she could not hear; and Baumberger's attitude was insulting. "I think," he said meaningly, "I wouldn't press the point if I were you."

"Giving me 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--"