Peaceful stared after them, went into the stable, and got a blanket to throw over Baumberger's inert body, stooped, and made sure that the man was dead, with the left breast of his light negligee shirt all blackened with powder and soaked with blood; covered him well, and tied up the team. Then he went to the house, and got the old rifle that had killed Indians and buffalo alike, and went quickly through the grove to the garden. He was a methodical man, and he was counted slow, but nevertheless he reached the scene not much behind the others. Wally was trying to send his mother to the house with Evadna, and neither would go. Miss Georgie was standing near Good Indian, watching Stanley with her lips pressed together. It is doubtful if Good Indian realized what the others were doing. He had gone straight past the line of stakes to where Stanley was sitting with his back against the lightning-stricken apricot tree. Stanley was smoking a cigarette as if he had heard nothing of the excitement, but his rifle was resting upon his knee in such a manner that he had but to lift it and take aim. The three others were upon their own claims, and they, also, seemed unobtrusively ready for whatever might be going to happen. Good Indian appraised the situation with a quick glance as he came up, but he did not slacken his pace until he was within ten feet of Stanley. “You're across the dead line, m' son,” said Stanley, with lazy significance. “And you, too,” he added, flickering a glance at Miss Georgie. “The dead line,” said Good Indian coolly, “is beyond the Point o' Rocks. I'd like to see you on the other side by sundown.” Stanley looked him over, from the crown of his gray hat to the tips of his riding-boots, and laughed when his eyes came back to Good Indian's face. But the laugh died out rather suddenly at what he saw there. “Got the papers for that?” he asked calmly. But his jaw had squared. “I've got something better than papers. Your boss is dead. I shot him just now. He's lying back there by the stable.” Good Indian tilted his head backward, without taking his eyes from Stanley's face--and Stanley's right hand, too, perhaps. “If you don't want the same medicine, I'd advise you to quit.” Stanley's jaw dropped, but it was surprise which slackened the muscles. “You--shot--” “Baumberger. I said it.” “You'll hang for that,” Stanley stated impersonally, without moving. Good Indian smiled, but it only made his face more ominous. “Well, they can't hang a man more than once. I'll see this ranch cleaned up while I'm about it. I'd just as soon,” he added composedly, “be hanged for nine men as for one.”