“There's four of 'em, papa!” he shouted, all in one breath. “They're jumpin' the ranch for placer claims. They said so. Each one's got a claim, 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're chewin' the rag down there, is all. Good Injun knows one of 'em.” Peaceful Hart stood indecisively, and stared, one and gripping the back of his chair. His lips were working so that his beard bristled about his mouth. “They can't do nothing--the ranch belongs to me,” he said, his eyes turning rather helplessly to Baumberger. “I've got my patent.” “Jumping our ranch!--for placer claims!” Phoebe stood up, leaning hard upon the table with both hands. “And we've lived here ever since Clark was a baby!” “Now, now, let's not get excited over this,” soothed Baumberger, getting out of his chair slowly, like the overfed glutton he was. He picked up a crisp fragment of biscuit, crunched it between his teeth, and chewed it slowly. “Can't be anything serious--and if it is, why--I'm here. A lawyer 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 eyes gleamed at him. She was pale, so that her face had a peculiar, ivory tint. “Now, now!” Baumberger put out a puffy hand admonishingly. “Let's keep cool--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 of his thumb and finger. “You're a lawyer, Mr. Baumberger,” Peaceful turned to him, still helpless 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'll go down there and see just how much there is to this, and--order 'em off. Calmly, calmly! No violence--no threats--just tell 'em firmly and quietly to leave.” He stuffed his pipe carefully, pressing down the tobacco 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'll proceed to serve an injunction.” He drew a match along the back of his chair, and lighted his pipe. “I reckon we'd better go and look after those boys of yours,” he suggested, moving toward the door rather quickly, for all his apparent deliberation. “They're inclined to be hot-headed, and we must have no violence, above all things. Keep it a civil matter right through. Much easier to handle in court, if there's no violence to complicate the case.” “They're looking for it,” Phoebe reminded him bluntly. “The man had a gun, and threw down on Vadnie.” “He only pointed it at me, auntie,” Evadna corrected, ignorant of the Western phrase.