“I didn’t say so. I said I don’t like to be shot at from ambush.”
Duffy stared at him for a second or two.
“Lissen, Doc Martin.” His tone was flat—squeezed dry of all feeling. “You don’t like me. You’ve been kinda high-handed with me more’n once. I don’t suffer with admiration for you, myself. But I’ll tell you this: if I want you, I’ll take you with an even break. I’m no bushwhacker. If somebody shot at you, an’ you think it was me, you got another think comin’. When I shoot at you, I’ll be lookin’ you in the eye.”
“I’m inclined to take your word for that, Duffy,” Rock said coolly. “If you say you didn’t, we’ll let it go at that.”
“The way you’ve acted with me the last few months,” said Duffy, growing querulous, “I’d as soon shoot it out with you as not. I’m tellin’ you straight, Martin, but it’s up to you to make the break. I don’t hunt trouble.”
“Nor do I,” Rock assured him truthfully.
“You musta changed your ways mighty sudden, then,” Duffy retorted.
Rock grinned amiably.
“I have,” said he. “I’ve sort of convinced myself I’ve been barking up the wrong tree, Elmer. I aim to change my ways. Don’t know whether for better or worse. But if you don’t go gunnin’ for me, I certainly don’t hanker to pick a fuss with you.”
Duffy eyed him doubtfully. He turned to the girl.