“Hey!” said the man.
“Hey, yourself,” said Billy Magee.
The man stopped before the gun. He was a tall fellow, heavy, and though he was of a dark complexion he was not Spanish—rather was he Irish. And he was no coward.
“What’s the idea?” indicating the gun. “Will it go off? What’cha want?”
The cowboy rode up.
“Just this, Sweeny. I want you to git. Git! Savvy the English? See that ditch over yonder? Take your bunch of Mexicans on the other side. And keep them there. It’s healthy.”
“Humph!” sneered the other. “Supposin’ I refuse?”
But the man said no more; he looked into the eyes of Billy Magee and backed away.
“What’s the idea, Billy; have you gone mad?”
“Kinda,” said the cowboy. “And I’m goin’ t’ get madder. This is dog days and I’ve been bitten—by a dog. Here! I’ll help you get that bunch moving.”