He reached for his pipe, placed it in his mouth, and held out a hand to Good Indian for a match.
"Say, young fella, have you got any stand-in with your noble red brothers ?" he asked, after he had sucked life into the charred tobacco.
"Cousins twice or three times removed, you mean," said Good Indian coldly, too proud and too lately repelled to meet the man on friendly ground.

"Why do you ask ?" Baumberger eyed him speculatively while he smoked, and chuckled to himself.
"One of 'em--never mind placing him on his own p'ticular limb of the family tree--has been doggin' me all morning," he said at last, and waved a fishy hand toward the bluff which towered high above them.

"Saw him when I was comin' up, about sunrise, pokin' along behind me in the sagebrush.

Didn't think anything of that--thought maybe he was hunting or going fishing--but he's been sneakin' around behind me ever since.

I don't reckon he's after my scalp--not enough hair to pay--but I'd like to know what the dickens he does mean." "Nothing probably," Good Indian told him shortly, his eyes nevertheless searching the rocks for a sight of the watcher.
"Well, I don't much like the idea," complained Baumberger, casting an eye aloft in fear of snagging his line when he made another cast.