“Didn't I?” Phoebe laughed at him openly. “I'd have been more surprised if you hadn't. Why, my grief! I know enough about human nature, I hope, to expect--” “Churning?” The voice of Baumberger purred down to them. There he stood bulkily at the top of the steps, good-naturedly regarding them. “Mr. Hart and I are goin' to take a ride up to the station--gotta send a telegram or two about this little affair”--he made a motion with his pipe toward the orchard--“and I just thought a good, cold drink of buttermilk before we start wouldn't be bad.” His glance just grazed Good Indian, and passed him over as being of no consequence. “If you don't happen to have any handy, it don't matter in the least,” he added, and turned to go when Phoebe shook her head. “Anything we can get for yuh at the store, Mrs. Hart? Won't be any trouble at all--Oh, all right.” He had caught another shake of the head. “We may be gone till supper-time,” he explained further, “and I trust to your good sense, Mrs. Hart, to see that the boys keep away from those fellows down there.” The pipe, and also his head, again indicated the men in the orchard. “We don't want any ill feeling stirred up, you understand, and so they'd better just keep away from 'em. They're good boys--they'll do as you say.” He leered at her ingratiatingly, shot a keen, questioning look at Good Indian, and went his lumbering way. Grant went to the top of the steps, and made sure that he had really gone before he said a word. Even then he sat down upon the edge of the stairway with his back to the pond, so that he could keep watch of the approaches to the spring-house; he had become an exceedingly suspicious young man overnight. “Mother Hart, on the square, what do you think of Baumberger?” he asked her abruptly. “Come and sit down; I want to talk with you--if I can without having the whole of Idaho listening.” “Oh, Grant--I don't know what to think! He seems all right, and I don't know why he shouldn't be just what he seems; he's got the name of being a good lawyer. But something--well, I get notions about things sometimes. And I can't, somehow, feel just right about him taking up this jumping business. I don't know why. I guess it's just a feeling, because I can see you don't like him. And the boys don't seem to, either, for some reason. I guess it's because he won't let 'em get right after those fellows and drive 'em off the ranch. They've been uneasy as they could be all day.” She sat down upon a rough stool just inside the door, and looked up at him with troubled eyes. “And I'm getting it, too--seems like I'd go all to pieces if I can't do SOMETHING!” She sighed, and tried to cover the sigh with a laugh--which was not, however, a great success. “I wish I could be as cool-headed as Thomas,” she said, with a tinge of petulance. “It don't seem to worry him none!”