"He was right up there a few minutes ago." He pointed his rod toward a sun-ridden ridge above them.

"I got a flicker of his green blanket when he raised up and scowled down at me.

He ducked when he saw me turn my head--looked to me like the surly buck that blew in to the ranch the night I came; Jim something-or-other.

By the great immortal Jehosaphat!" he swore humorously, "I'd like to tie him up in his dirty blanket and heave him into the river--only it would kill all the fish in the Malad." Good Indian laughed.
"Oh, I know it's funny, young fella," Baumberger growled.

"About as funny as being pestered by a mosquito buzzing under your nose when you're playing a fish that keeps cuttin' figure eights in a hole the size uh that one there." "I'll go up and take a look," Good Indian offered carelessly.
"Well, I wish you would.