'"
"I'm sorry, Baker," said Bob, "and I suppose I must appear to be a spy
in the matter. But it can't be helped."
Baker's good-humoured, fat face had fallen into grave lines. He studied
a distant spruce tree for a moment.
"Well," he roused himself at last, "I wish this particular attack of
measles had passed off before you bucked up against us. Because, you
know, that land's ours, and we don't expect to give it up on account of
this sort of fool agitation. We'll win this case. I'm sorry you're mixed
up in it."
"Saleratus Bill?" hinted Bob.
Baker's humorous expression returned.
"What do you take me for?" he grinned. "No, that's Oldham's bodyguard.
Thinks he needs a bodyguard these days. That's what comes from having a
bad conscience, I tell him. Some of those dagoes he's sold bum farms to
are more likely to show up with a desire to abate him, than that
anything would happen to him in these hills. Now let's get this
straight; the cases go on?"
"Yes."
"And you testify?"
"Yes."
"And call Welton in for corroboration?"
"I hardly think that's necessary."
"It will be, as you very well know.
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