It seemed strange that a man who had lived west of the Pecos for ten years could not see in Steele something which forbade that kind of talk.
It certainly was not nerve Wright showed; men of courage were seldom intolerant; and with the matchless nerve that characterized Steele or the great gunmen of the day there went a cool, unobtrusive manner, a speech brief, almost gentle, certainly courteous. Wright was a hot-headed Louisianian of French extraction; a man evidently who had never been crossed in anything, and who was strong, brutal, passionate, which qualities, in the face of a situation like this, made him simply a fool!
The way Steele looked at Wright was joy to me. I hated this smooth, dark-skinned Southerner. But, of course, an ordinary affront like Wright's only earned silence from Steele.
“I'm thinking you used your Ranger bluff just to get near Diane Sampson,” Wright sneered. “Mind you, if you come up there again there'll be hell!”
“You're damn right there'll be hell!” retorted Steele, a kind of high ring in his voice. I saw thick, dark red creep into his face.
Had Wright's incomprehensible mention of Diane Sampson been an instinct of love—of jealousy? Verily, it had pierced into the depths of the Ranger, probably as no other thrust could have.
“Diane Sampson wouldn't stoop to know a dirty blood-tracker like you,” said Wright hotly. His was not a deliberate intention to rouse Steele; the man was simply rancorous. “I'll call you right, you cheap bluffer! You four- flush! You damned interfering conceited Ranger!”
Long before Wright ended his tirade Steele's face had lost the tinge of color, so foreign to it in moments like this; and the cool shade, the steady eyes like ice on fire, the ruthless lips had warned me, if they had not Wright.
“Wright, I'll not take offense, because you seem to be championing your beautiful cousin,” replied Steele in slow speech, biting. “But let me return your compliment. You're a fine Southerner! Why, you're only a cheap four- flush—damned bull-headed—
Steele hissed the last word. Then for him—for me—for Hoden—there was the truth in Wright's working passion-blackened face.
Wright jerked, moved, meant to draw. But how slow! Steele lunged forward. His long arm swept up.
And Wright staggered backward, knocking table and chairs, to fall hard, in a half-sitting posture, against the wall.
“Don't draw!” warned Steele.
“Wright, get away from your gun!” yelled the cowboy Brick.
But Wright was crazed by fury. He tugged at his hip, his face corded with purple welts, malignant, murderous, while he got to his feet.
I was about to leap through the door when Steele shot. Wright's gun went ringing to the floor.
Like a beast in pain Wright screamed. Frantically he waved a limp arm, flinging blood over the white table- cloths. Steele had crippled him.
“Here, you cowboy,” ordered Steele; “take him out, quick!”
Brick saw the need of expediency, if Wright did not realize it, and he pulled the raving man out of the place. He hurried Wright down the street, leaving the horses behind.
Steele calmly sheathed his gun.
“Well, I guess that opens the ball,” he said as I came out.
Hoden seemed fascinated by the spots of blood on the table-cloths. It was horrible to see him rubbing his hands there like a ghoul!
“I tell you what, fellows,” said Steele, “we've just had a few pleasant moments with the man who has made it healthy to keep close-mouthed in Linrock.”
Hoden lifted his shaking hands.
“What'd you wing him for?” he wailed. “He was drawin' on you. Shootin' arms off men like him won't do out here.”
I was inclined to agree with Hoden.
“That bull-headed fool will roar and butt himself with all his gang right into our hands. He's just the man I've needed to meet. Besides, shooting him would have been murder for me!”
“Murder!” exclaimed Hoden.
“He was a fool, and slow at that. Under such circumstances could I kill him when I didn't have to?”
“Sure it'd been the trick.” declared Jim positively. “I'm not allowin' for whether he's really a rustler or not. It just won't do, because these fellers out here ain't goin' to be afraid of you.”
“See here, Hoden. If a man's going to be afraid of me at all, that trick will make him more afraid of me. I know it. It works out. When Wright cools down he'll remember, he'll begin to think, he'll realize that I could more easily have killed him than risk a snapshot at his arm. I'll bet you he goes pale to the gills next time he even sees me.”
“That may be true, Steele. But if Wright's the man you think he is he'll begin that secret underground bizness. It's been tolerable healthy these last six months. You can gamble on this. If thet secret work does commence you'll have more reason to suspect Wright. I won't feel very safe from now on.
“I heard you call him rustler. He knows thet. Why, Wright won't sleep at night now. He an' Sampson have always been after me.”
“Hoden, what are your eyes for?” demanded Steele. “Watch out. And now here. See your friend Morton. Tell
