Morgan never finished his sentence; a blow that he afterwards said was “worse than the kick of a mule,” had closed one eye.
With an oath, he made a terrible lunge toward Houston, but he knew nothing more until about fifteen minutes later, when he found himself lying on the floor, under the long desk, on the opposite side of the room, while Houston stood a few feet away, watching him.
“You dirty contemptible cur!” said Houston, “do you think because you have no sense of honor, because you are so vile you can have no idea of what purity means, that every one is like yourself? You deserve to be kicked like a dog; come out from there and fight, why don’t you?”
“I don’t believe I’m very anxious to, if you’d just as soon excuse me,” said Morgan, who had gradually assumed a sitting posture, and was passing his hand over his eye and jaw. Then, looking up with as much of a grin as he could muster, with his rapidly swelling face, he said, “Give it up, Houston; you’re a better man than I am; I’ll let you boss this ranch.”
“Do you mean,” asked Houston sternly, “that from this time there will be no more insinuations against ladies, and no innuendoes in their presence?”
“Yes, I agree,” said Morgan, “I’ll never say anything myself, and I’ll smash any other fellow that does; I think,” he added, reflectively, “that you’ve showed me how pretty well, though I’d a little rather you’d practiced on some other fellow, Haight, for instance.”
“I’ll attend to Haight,” said Houston, helping Morgan to his feet, and smiling grimly at the figure he made.
An hour later, Houston presented himself at the sorting rooms, where Haight met him with many smiles, offering to show him through the rooms.
“Another time will do, Mr. Haight,” said Houston coldly, “I have business with yourself this morning.”
“Oh, yes,” said Haight, as if the thought had just occurred to him, “that unfortunate business at the table this morning; Mr. Houston, I am more than sorry for what happened, and assure you, that, so far as I am concerned, it shall never occur again.”