“Ne’mind waterin’ the team now”—and the cattleman placed himself between Joshua and Madge’s mules. “What’re ye gonta do?”
“I’ll tell you,” said Joshua: “If you don’t get out of my way right now, so that I can lead that team to the water, I’m going to shove you out of the way. I’ve stood about all of the browbeating that I usually contract to stand from anybody. Will you let me water this team, now?”
“T’ hell with yer team! You get yer things an’ pack up, and beat it outa—”
But at this point Mr. Lee Sweet was pushed violently backward by Joshua Cole, and he lost his balance and sat down in a very undignified manner.
Unconcernedly Joshua started toward the heads of Madge’s span of mules, and then the girl shouted a warning from her seat:
“Look out, Joshua! He’s up and—”
Joshua swung about just in time to ward off a blow from one of the stockman’s heavy fists, but before he could retaliate a stubby-fingered hand fell on Sweet’s shoulder, and from then on he had to deal with California Bill.
“Tut-tut-tut!” came Bill’s soothing drawl. “Lee, I’m ashamed of ye, all lickered up before these here ladies, an’ carryin’ on plumb cultus, like ye’re doin’! An’ you with a wife an’ a couple o’ th’ nicest kids this side th’ Tehachapi! Lee, ye don’t carry yer licker like ye usta—seems. Come on back to Th’ Silver Dollar an’ try to get a little sleep.”
The big bewhiskered cattleman stood stock-still and made no move to show his resentment over the interference of California Bill. Over in front of The Silver Dollar a crowd had gathered, watching the altercation in silence. Slim Wolfgang continued to lean listlessly against the building, his hat drawn down low over his eyes of faded blue, the cigarette still drooping from his thin and sallow lips.
“You mind yer own business, Californy!” Lee Sweet said to the freighter, but he said it in a way that convinced nobody that he meant to follow the implied threat with physical action.