“Yes.”
“An’ yer said ye’d handle me rougher than that ef I come round?”
“I believe I made some such remark.”
“There!” shouted the younger brother, in delight. “I told ye!”
“Whoop!” roared the elder. “Is this yar possible? Is it possible a hand-fed cosset calf will blat at this untamed old maverick in this yar manner? I reckon I’m dreamin’!”
“It’s jest what he done, Sam,” declared the younger brother, eagerly. “He thinks he can do you.”
“Waal, I reckon I’ll hev ter wipe up ther floor with him, jest ter teach ther blame fool a lesson.”
Whereupon the cowboy spat on his hands and prepared to attack Merriwell, at whom he glared in a manner that expressed his contempt for such an insignificant person.
Ephraim Gallup stood near, his mouth wide open and his knees seeming to shake beneath him. The aspect of the cowboy was so terrible that the Vermonter actually seemed frightened.
Sawyer, the local stage manager, was also frightened, but he did not dare interfere, for he stood in great fear of Sam Hooker.