The trumps which he felt he held was in being
forewarned; he could not see that the others knew his hand.
He said to Lawlor: "I think a man named Nash works on this ranch. I
expected to see him at supper here."
"Nash?" answered Lawlor. "Sure, he used to be foreman here. Ain't no
more. Nope--I couldn't stand for his lip. Didn't mind him getting fresh
till he tried to ride me. Then I turned him loose. Where did you meet
him?"
"While I was riding in this direction."
"Want to see him bad?"
The other moistened his lips.
"Rather! He killed my horse."
A silence fell on these who were within hearing. They would not have
given equal attention to the story of the killing of a man.
"How'd he get away with it?"
"The Saverack was between us. Before I could get my gun out he was
riding out of range. I'll meet him and have another talk some day."
"Well, the range ain't very small."
"But my dear fellow, it's not nearly as big as my certainty of meeting
this--cur."
There is something in a low, slow voice more thrilling than the thunder
of actual rage.
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