Good Indian

by B. M. Bower

  CHAPTER XIV. THE CLAIM-JUMPERS

  "Guess that bobcat was after my ducks again, last night," commentedPhoebe Hart, when she handed Baumberger his cup of coffee. "The way thedogs barked all night--didn't they keep you awake?"

  "Never slept better in my life," drawled Baumberger, his voice slidingupward from the first word to the last. His blood-shot eyes, however,rather gave the lie to his statement. "I'm going to make one more try,'long about noon, for that big one--girls didn't get him, I guess, forall their threats, or I'd heard about it. And I reckon I'll take theevening train home. Shoulda gone yesterday, by rights. I'd like to geta basket uh fish to take up with me. Great coffee, Mrs. Hart, and suchcream I never did see. I sure do hate to leave so many good thingsand go back to a boardin' house. Look at this honey, now!" He sighedgluttonously, leaning slightly over the table while he fed.

  "Dogs were barking at something down in the orchard," Wally volunteered,passing over Baumberger's monologue. "I was going down there, but it wasso dark--and I thought maybe it was Gene's ghost. That was before themoon came up. Got any more biscuits, mum?"

  "My trap wasn't sprung behind the chicken-house," said Donny. "I looked,first thing."

  "Dogs," drawled Baumberger, his enunciation muffled by the food in hismouth, "always bark. And cats fight on shed-roofs. Next door to where Iboard there's a dog that goes on shift as regular as a policeman. Everynight at--"

  "Oh, Aunt Phoebe!" Evadna, crisp and cool in a summery dress of somelight-colored stuff, and looking more than ever like a Christmas angelset a-flutter upon the top of a holiday fir in a sudden gust of wind,threw open the door, rushed halfway into the room, and stopped besidethe chair of her aunt. Her hands dropped to the plump shoulder of thesitter. "Aunt Phoebe, there's a man down at the farther end of thestrawberry patch! He's got a gun, Aunt Phoebe, and he's camped there,and when he heard me he jumped up and pointed the gun straight at me!"

  "Why, honey, that can't be--you must have seen an Indian prowling afterwindfalls off the apricot trees there. He wouldn't hurt you." Phoebereached up, and caught the hands in a reassuring clasp.

  Evadna's eyes strayed from one face to another around the table tillthey rested upon Good Indian, as having found sanctuary there.

  "But, Aunt Phoebe, he was WASN'T. He was a white man. And he has a campthere, right by that tree the lightning peeled the bark off. I was closebefore I saw him, for he was sitting down and the currant bushes werebetween. But I went through to get round where Uncle Hart has beenirrigating and it's all mud, and he jumped up and pointed the gun AT me.Just as if he was going to shoot me. And I turned and ran." Her fingersclosed upon the hand of her aunt, but her eyes clung to Good Indian, asthough it was to him she was speaking.

  "Tramp," suggested Baumberger, in a tone of soothing finality, as whenone hushes the fear of a child. "Sick the dogs on him. He'll go--neversaw the hobo yet that wouldn't run from a dog." He smiled leeringly upat her, and reached for a second helping of honey.

  Good Indian pulled his glance from Evadna, and tried to bore throughthe beefy mask which was Baumberger's face, but all he found there wasa gross interest in his breakfast and a certain indulgent sympathy forEvadna's fear, and he frowned in a baffled way.

  "Who ever heard of a tramp camped in our orchard!" flouted Phoebe. "Theydon't get down here once a year, and then they always come to the house.You couldn't know there WAS any strawberry patch behind that thick rowof trees--or a garden, or anything else."

  "He's got a row of stakes running clear across the patch," Evadnarecalled suddenly. "Just like they do for a new street, or a railroad,or something. And--"

  Good Indian pushed back his chair with a harsh, scraping noise,and rose. He was staring hard at Baumberger, and his whole face hadsharpened till it had the cold, unyielding look of an Indian. Andsuddenly Baumberger raised his head and met full that look. For twobreaths their eyes held each other, and then Baumberger glanced casuallyat Peaceful.

  "Sounds queer--must be some mistake, though. You must have seensomething, girl, that reminded you of stakes. The stub off asagebrush maybe?" He ogled her quite frankly. "When a little girl getsscared--Sick the dogs on him," he advised the family collectively,his manner changing to a blustering anxiety that her fright should beavenged.

  Evadna seemed to take his tone as a direct challenge. "I was scared, butI know quite well what I saw. He wasn't a tramp. He had a regular camp,with a coffee-pot and frying-pan and blankets. And there a line ofstakes across the strawberry patch."

  Before, the breakfast had continued to seem an important incidenttemporarily suspended. Now Peaceful Hart laid hand to his beard, eyedhis wife questioningly, let his glance flicker over the faces of hissons, and straightened his shoulders unconsciously. Good Indian was atthe door, his mouth set in a thin, straight, fighting line. Wally andJack were sliding their chairs back from the table preparing to followhim.

  "I guess it ain't anything much," Peaceful opined optimistically. "Theycan't do anything but steal berries, and they're most gone, anyhow. Goask him what he wants, down there." The last sentence was but feeblesort of fiction that his boys would await his commands; as a matter offact, they were outside before he spoke.

  "Take the dogs along," called out Baumberger, quite as futilely, for notone of the boys was within hearing.

  Until they heard footsteps returning at a run, the four stayed wherethey were. Baumberger rumbled on in a desultory sort of way, which mighthave caused an observant person to wonder where was his lawyer training,and the deep cunning and skill with which he was credited, for his wordswere as profitless and inconsequential as an old woman's. He talkedabout tramps, and dogs that barked o' nights, and touched gallantly uponfeminine timidity and the natural, protective instincts of men.

  Peaceful Hart may have heard half of what he said--but more likely heheard none of it. He sat drawing his white beard through his hand, andhis mild, blue eyes were turned often to Phoebe in mute question. Phoebeherself was listening, but not to Baumberger; she was permitting Evadnato tuck in stray locks of her soft, brown hair, but her face was turnedto the door which opened upon the porch. At the first clatter of runningfootsteps on the porch, she and Peaceful pushed back their chairsinstinctively.

  The runner was Donny, and every freckle stood out distinctly upon hisface.

  "There's four of 'em, papa!" he shouted, all in one breath. "They'rejumpin' the ranch for placer claims. They said so. Each one's got aclaim, and they're campin' on the corners, so they'll be close together.They're goin' to wash gold. Good Injun--"

  "Oh!" screamed Evadna suddenly. "Don't let him--don't let them hurt him,Uncle Hart!"

  "Aw, they ain't fightin'," Donny assured her disgustedly. "They'rechewin' the rag down there, is all. Good Injun knows one of 'em."

  Peaceful Hart stood indecisively, and stared, one and gripping the backof his chair. His lips were working so that his beard bristled about hismouth.

  "They can't do nothing--the ranch belongs to me," he said, his eyesturning rather helplessly to Baumberger. "I've got my patent."

  "Jumping our ranch!--for placer claims!" Phoebe stood up, leaning hardupon the table with both hands. "And we've lived here ever since Clarkwas a baby!"

  "Now, now, let's not get excited over this," soothed Baumberger, gettingout of his chair slowly, like the overfed glutton he was. He picked up acrisp fragment of biscuit, crunched it between his teeth, and chewedit slowly. "Can't be anything serious--and if it is, why--I'm here. Alawyer right on the spot may save a lot of trouble. The main thing is,let's not get excited and do something rash. Those boys--"

  "Not excited?--and somebody jumping--our--ranch?" Phoebe's soft eyesgleamed at him. She was pale, so that her face had a peculiar, ivorytint.

  "Now, now!" Baumberger put out a puffy hand admonishingly. "Let's keepcool--that's half the battle won. Keep cool." He reached for his pipe,got out his twisted leather tobacco pouch, and opened it with a twirl ofhis thumb and finger.

  "You're a lawyer, Mr. Baumberger," Peacef
ul turned to him, stillhelpless in his manner. "What's the best thing to be done?"

  "Don't--get--excited." Baumberger nodded his head for every word."That's what I always say when a client comes to me all worked up. We'llgo down there and see just how much there is to this, and--order 'emoff. Calmly, calmly! No violence--no threats--just tell 'em firmly andquietly to leave." He stuffed his pipe carefully, pressing down thetobacco with the tip of a finger. "Then," he added with slow emphasis,"if they don't go, after--say twenty-four hours' notice--why, we'llproceed to serve an injunction." He drew a match along the back of hischair, and lighted his pipe.

  "I reckon we'd better go and look after those boys of yours," hesuggested, moving toward the door rather quickly, for all his apparentdeliberation. "They're inclined to be hot-headed, and we must have noviolence, above all things. Keep it a civil matter right through. Mucheasier to handle in court, if there's no violence to complicate thecase."

  "They're looking for it," Phoebe reminded him bluntly. "The man had agun, and threw down on Vadnie."

  "He only pointed it at me, auntie," Evadna corrected, ignorant of theWestern phrase.

  The two women followed the men outside and into the shady yard, wherethe trees hid completely what lay across the road and beyond the doublerow of poplars. Donny, leaning far forward and digging his bare toesinto the loose soil for more speed, raced on ahead, anxious to see andhear all that took place.

  "If the boys don't stir up a lot of antagonism," Baumberger kept urgingPeaceful and Phoebe, as they hurried into the garden, "the matter oughtto be settled without much trouble. You can get an injunction, and--"

  "The idea of anybody trying to hold our place for mineral land!"Phoebe's indignation was cumulative always, and was now bubbling intowrath. "Why, my grief! Thomas spent one whole summer washing everylikely spot around here. He never got anything better than colors onthis ranch--and you can get them anywhere in Idaho, almost. And to comeright into our garden, in the right--and stake a placer claim!" Heranger seemed beyond further utterance. "The idea!" she finished weakly.

  "Well--but we mustn't let ourselves get excited," soothed Baumberger,the shadow of him falling darkly upon Peaceful and Phoebe as he strodealong, upon the side next the sun. Peppajee would have called that anevil thing, portending much trouble and black treachery.

  "That's where people always blunder in a thing like this. A littlecool-headedness goes farther than hard words or lead. And," he addedcheeringly, "it may be a false alarm, remember. We won't borrow trouble.We'll just make sure of our ground, first thing we do."

  "It's always easy enough to be calm over the other fellow's trouble,"said Phoebe sharply, irritated in an indefinable way by the oilyoptimism of the other. "It ain't your ox that's gored, Mr. Baumberger."

  They skirted the double row of grapevines, picked their way over a spotlately flooded from the ditch, which they crossed upon two planks laidside by side, went through an end of the currant patch, made a detouraround a small jungle of gooseberry bushes, and so came in sight of thestrawberry patch and what was taking place near the lightning-scarredapricot tree. Baumberger lengthened his stride, and so reached the spotfirst.

  The boys were grouped belligerently in the strawberry patch, justoutside a line of new stakes, freshly driven in the ground. Beyond thatline stood a man facing them with a.45-.70 balanced in the hollow ofhis arm. In the background stood three other men in open spaces in theshrubbery, at intervals of ten rods or so, and they also had riflesrather conspicuously displayed. They were grinning, all three. The manjust over the line was listening while Good Indian spoke; the voice ofGood Indian was even and quiet, as if he were indulging in casual smalltalk of the country, but that particular claim-jumper was not smiling.Even from a distance they could see that he was fidgeting uncomfortablywhile he listened, and that his breath was beginning to come jerkily.

  "Now, roll your blankets and GIT!" Good Indian finished sharply, andwith the toe of his boot kicked the nearest stake clear of the loosesoil. He stooped, picked it up, and cast it contemptuously from him. Itlanded three feet in front of the man who had planted it, and he jumpedand shifted the rifle significantly upon his arm, so that the butt of itcaressed his right shoulder-joint.

  "Now, now, we don't want any overt acts of violence here," wheezedBaumberger, laying hand upon Good Indian's shoulder from behind. GoodIndian shook off the touch as if it were a tarantula upon him.

  "You go to the devil," he advised chillingly.

  "Tut, tut!" Baumberger reproved gently. "The ladies are within hearing,my boy. Let's get at this thing sensibly and calmly. Violence only makesthings worse. See how quiet Wally and Jack and Clark and Gene are! THEYrealize how childishly spiteful it would be for them to follow yourexample. They know better. They don't want--"

  Jack grinned, and hitched his gun into plainer view. "When we start in,it won't be STICKS we're sending to His Nibs," he observed placidly."We're just waiting for him to ante."

  "This," said Baumberger, a peculiar gleam coming into his leering,puffy-lidded eyes, and a certain hardness creeping into his voice, "thisis a matter for your father and me to settle. It's just-a-bide-beyondyou youngsters. This is a civil case. Don't foolishly make it come underthe criminal code. But there!" His voice purred at them again. "Youwon't. You're all too clear-headed and sensible."

  "Oh, sure!" Wally gave his characteristic little snort. "We're only juststanding around to see how fast the cabbages grow!"

  Baumberger advanced boldly across the dead line.

  "Stanley, put down that gun, and explain your presence here and yourobject," he rumbled. "Let's get at this thing right end to. First, whatare you doing here?"

  The man across the line did not put down his rifle, except that he letthe butt of it drop slightly away from his shoulder so that the sightswere in alignment with an irrigating shovel thrust upright into theground ten feet to one side of the group. His manner lost little of itswatchfulness, and his voice was surly with defiance when he spoke. ButGood Indian, regarding him suspiciously through half-closed lids, wouldhave sworn that a look of intelligence flashed between those two. Therewas nothing more than a quiver of his nostrils to betray him as he movedover beside Evadna--for the pure pleasure of being near her, one wouldthink; in reality, while the pleasure was there, that he might see bothBaumberger's face and Stanley's without turning more than his eyes.

  "All there is to it," Stanley began blustering, "you see before yuh.I've located twenty acres here as a placer claim. That there's thenorthwest corner--ap-prox'm'tley--close as I could come by sightin'.Your fences are straight with yer land, and I happen to sabe all yercorners. I've got a right here. I believe this ground is worth more forthe gold that's in it than for the turnips you can make grow on top--andthat there makes mineral land of it, and as such, open to entry. That'saccordin' to law. I ain't goin' to build no trouble--but I sure doaim to defend my prope'ty rights if I have to. I realize yuh may thinkdiffrunt from me. You've got a right to prove, if yuh can, that all thisain't mineral land. I've got jest as much right to prove it is."

  He took a breath so deep it expanded visibly his chest--a broad,muscular chest it was--and let his eyes wander deliberately over hisaudience.

  "That there's where _I_ stand," he stated, with arrogant self-assurance.His mouth drew down at the corners in a smile which asked plainly whatthey were going to do about it, and intimated quite as plainly that hedid not care what they did, though he might feel a certain curiosity asan onlooker.

  "I happen to know--" Peaceful began, suddenly for him. But Baumbergerwaved him into silence.

  "You'll have to prove there's gold in paying quantities here," he statedpompously.

  "That's what I aim to do," Stanley told him imperturbably.

  "_I_ proved, over fifteen years ago, that there WASN'T," Peacefuldrawled laconically, and sucked so hard upon his pipe that his cheeksheld deep hollows.

  Stanley grinned at him. "Sorry I can't let it go at that," he saidironically. "I reckon I'll have to do
some washin' myself, though,before I feel satisfied there ain't."

  "Then you haven't panned out anything yet?" Phoebe caught him up.

  Stanley's eyes flickered a questioning glance at Baumberger, andBaumberger puffed out his chest and said:

  "The law won't permit you to despoil this man's property without goodreason. We can serve an injunction--"

  "You can serve and be darned." Stanley's grin returned, wider thanbefore.

  "As Mr. Hart's legal adviser," Baumberger began, in the tone he employedin the courtroom--a tone which held no hint of his wheezy chuckle or hisoily reassurance--"I hereby demand that you leave this claim whichyou have staked out upon Thomas Hart's ranch, and protest that yourcontinued presence here, after twenty-four hours have expired, will belooked upon as malicious trespass, and treated as such."

  Stanley still grinned. "As my own legal adviser," he returned calmly, "Ihereby declare that you can go plumb to HEL-ena." Stanley evidently feltimpelled to adapt his vocabulary to feminine ears, for he glanced atthem 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, toresemble so strongly his mother's people. He had that stoniness ofexpression which betrays strong emotion held rigidly in check, withwhich his quivering nostrils and the light in his half-shut eyescontrasted strangely. He had missed no fleeting glance, no guarded tone,and he was thinking and weighing and measuring every impression asit came to him. Of some things he felt sure; of others he was halfconvinced; and there was more which he only suspected. And all thewhile he stood there quietly beside Evadna, his attitude almost that ofboredom.

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

  "Better say he's a TOUGH case," blurted Wally, and turned on hisheel. "What the devil are they standing around on one foot for, makingmedicine?" he demanded angrily of Good Indian, who unceremoniously leftEvadna and came up with him. "I'D run him off the ranch first, and domy talking about it afterward. That hunk uh pork is kicking up a lot uhdust, 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--butthere's something fishy about it."

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

  Wally, coming again alongside, turned his head, and regarded himattentively.

  "Injun's on top," he diagnosed sententiously after a minute. "Lookslike he's putting on a good, thick layer uh war-paint, too." He waitedexpectantly. "You might hand me the brush when you're through," hehinted grimly. "I might like to get out after some scalps myself."

  "That so?" Good Indian asked inattentively, and went on without waitingfor any reply. They left the garden, and went down the road to thestable, Wally passively following Grant's lead. Someone came hurryingafter them, and they turned to see Jack. The others had evidently stayedto hear the legal harangue to a close.

  "Say, Stanley says there's four beside the fellows we saw," Jackannounced, rather breathlessly, for he had been running through theloose, heavy soil of the garden to overtake them. "They've locatedtwenty acres apiece, he says--staked 'em out in the night and stuck uptheir notices--and everyone's going to STICK. They're all going to putin grizzlies and mine the whole thing, he told dad. He just the same asaccused dad right out of covering up valuable mineral land on purpose.And he says the law's all on their side." He leaned hard against thestable, and drew his fingers across his forehead, white as a girl's whenhe pushed back his hat. "Baumberger," he said cheerlessly, "wasstill talking injunction when I left, but--" He flung out his handcontemptuously.

  "I wish dad wasn't so--" began Wally moodily, and let it go at that.

  Good Indian threw up his head with that peculiar tightening of lipswhich meant much in the way of emotion.

  "He'll listen to Baumberger, and he'll lose the ranch listening," hestated distinctly. "If there's anything to do, we've got to do it."

  "We can run 'em off--maybe," suggested Jack, his fighting instinctssteadied by the vivid memory of four rifles held by four men, who lookedthoroughly capable of using them.

  "This isn't a case of apple-stealing," Good Indian quelled sharply, andgot his rope from his saddle with the manner of a man who has definitelymade up his mind.

  "What CAN we do, then?" Wally demanded impatiently.

  "Not a thing at present." Good Indian started for the little pasture,where Keno was feeding and switching methodically at the flies. "Youfellows can do more by doing nothing to-day than if you killed off thewhole bunch."

  He came back in a few minutes with his horse, and found the two stillmoodily discussing the thing. He glanced at them casually, and wentabout the business of saddling.

  "Where you going?" asked Wally abruptly, when Grant was looping up theend of his latigo.

  "Just scouting around a little," was the unsatisfactory reply he got,and he scowled as Good Indian rode away.