When we were behind the pen and out of earshot of the fire, he stopped dragging me and dropped me in a heap. "Make any noise," he said, "and I'll hurt you."
That was a silly way to put it, but somehow it said more than if he'd threatened to break my arm or my head. It left him a latitude of things to do if he pleased. He examined his hand. There was enough moonlight for that. "I ought to club you anyway," he said.
The one I'd dropped the saddle on came up then. The others were putting the animals in the pen. He started to kick me, but Horst stopped him.
"No," he said. "Look through the kid's gear, bring the horse and what we can use."
The other one didn't move. "Get going, Jack," Horst said in a menacing tone and they stood toe to toe for a long moment before Jack finally backed down. It seemed to me that Horst wasn't so much objecting to me being kicked, but was rather establishing who did the kicking in his bunch.
But I wasn't done yet. I was scared, but I still had the pistol under my jacket.
Horst turned back to me and I said, "You can't do this and get away with it."
He said, "Look, boy. You may not know it, but you be in a lot of trouble. So don't give me a hard time."
He still thought I was a boy. It was not time to correct him, but I didn't like to see the point go unchallenged. It was unflattering.
"The courts won't let you get away with this," I said. I'd passed a courthouse in the town with a carved motto over the doors: EQUAL JUSTICE UNDER THE LAW or TRUTH OUR SHIELD AND JUSTICE OUR SWORD or something stuffy like that.