Kite, suddenly, burst into flame like an oily rag. He threw up a clenched fist. “By God, Chase, he don’t dare try it!”
“Dare? He’ll dare anything.”
Kite stammered with the heat of his own anger. “He don’t dare!” he insisted. “Why, Chase—if he tries that—I’ll—I’ll—” With no sense that his words had been said before, he exclaimed: “I won’t live in the town, Chase. I’ll get out! I’ll shoot him! Or myself.”
Chase leaned forward. “I tell you, he’s aiming to do it,” he said steadily. “So sit down.”
Kite gripped his arm. “Chase, you got to drill some sense into that son of yours. You got to tell him—”
“He’s not my son now; he’s Amos’s. Living with Amos, doing what Amos says. Don’t forget that.”
There was a bitterness in Chase’s voice which silenced Kite for a moment. Then the little man touched Chase on the arm. “See here,” he said softly, “you don’t like Amos any better’n I do.”
Chase smiled mirthlessly. “I’m out for his hide,” he declared.
Kite nodded, chuckling grimly. “He thinks he’s a big man,” he said. “He thinks he can run over us, play with us, use us and then give us the brad. But I tell you right now, Chase....” He lifted his open hand as one who takes an oath. “I tell you right now, Chase, if he tries that little trick—you and me’ll get together, and we’ll hang his old hide in the sun to dry.”
“He’ll try it,” said Chase steadily.