“Are you trying to frighten me with such talk, Mig Bunol? You should know by this time that I am not easily frightened. You say you have followed me. That is good. While you were doing so Dunbar Budthorne and his sister were getting far beyond your reach. You have followed me in order to be near when they joined us again. That is it!”
Dick laughed triumphantly, for he had stated the reason why Bunol had so persistently dogged him about, and he felt that the fellow had been completely baffled.
Dick’s laughter caused Bunol to turn pale with rage. He saw that the young American regarded him with positive contempt. In Dick he had not aroused an atom of fear—nothing but aversion, scorn and contempt.
“You cannot fool me!” he snarled. “The Budthornes are not very far away. If you live, you will meet them soon. I shall be there.”
“Will you?”
“Yes! I know your cowboy friend has become deeply interested in Nadia, but—bah!—what is he? I can dispose of him so.” Bunol gave a careless flirt of his hand.
“It’s plain enough you do not know the kind of stuff that Brad Buckhart is made of.”
“He is nothing but a blustering braggart.”
“He’s a fighter, every inch of him; fearless as a lion. It was his bullet that pierced the shoulder of Rob MacLane, the outlaw, on the wall of Lochleven Castle, and sent him tumbling to the ground, where his career ended with a broken neck, greatly to the relief of all honest people.”
“Still he is nothing but a blustering braggart, and any man of real courage can become his master. I mind him not. It is you I have set my heart to conquer and crush, and then Buckhart will be disposed of with ease.”