peared at the ranch house. He was very angry and sputtered away in his broken English.
"Vot in the tevil do you mean? You dress up your cow-puncher men like Indians and you come down to my place and you shoot up my ranch. I vant to be a good neighbor. I am a good man. I vant to live in America and I vant to farm this land and you do this bad thing. Vot you mean?"
"I'm not quite sure what you mean," replied Hank Brodie. "You will have to explain more fully if you want me to understand."
"Last night, me and my vife, Gretchen, and my boys, we were all eating supper when bang, bang, a lot of Indians ride out of the woods and they shoot and shoot and take down my bars and drive away my horse and my cow. Vot you mean by that?"
"You say they were Indians. I don't know anything about any Indians. It must have been some of the Sioux from the reservation. They get filled up with fire water once in a while and go on a rampage. You had better look out for they may sweep down on you some night and scalp you and your family."
"I tell you they was not Indians. It was your cow-puncher men who make up like Indians and try to drive away my cow."
"I don't know anything about any Indians," replied
