“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. “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. I can't keep my mind on m' fishing--just wondering what the deuce he's after. And say! You tell him I'll stand him on his off ear if I catch him doggie' me ag'in. Folks come with yuh?” he remembered to ask as he prepared for another cast into the pool. “They're down there getting a campfire built, ready to fry what fish they catch,” Good Indian informed him, as he turned to climb the bluff. “They're going to eat dinner under that big ledge by the rapids. You better go on down.” He stood for a minute, and watched Baumberger make a dexterous cast, which proved fruitless, before he began climbing up the steep slope of jumbled bowlders upon which the bluff itself seemed to rest. He was not particularly interested in his quest, but he was in the mood for purposeless action; he still did not want to think. He climbed negligently, scattering loose rocks down the hill behind him. He had no expectation of coming upon Peppajee--unless Peppajee deliberately put himself in his way--and so there was no need of caution. He stopped once, and stood long minutes with his head turned to catch the faint sound of high-keyed laughter and talk which drifted up to him. If he went higher, he thought, he might get a glimpse of them--of her, to tell his thought honestly. Whereupon he forgot all about finding and expostulating with Peppajee, and thought only a point of the ridge which would give him a clear view downstream. To be sure, he might as easily have retraced his steps and joined the group, and seen every changing look in her face. But he did not want to be near her when others were by; he wanted her to himself, or not at all. So he went on, while the sun beat hotly down upon him and the rocks sent up dry waves of heat like an oven.