"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.