“If it should happen that Sam Hooker wishes to see me again, tell him to come round to the hotel and call for me. If he hasn’t had enough, I’ll finish him next time.”
With that he walked away, accompanied by Ephraim, Havener and Dunton.
Dunton was breathing easier.
“Merriwell,” he said, “I don’t know how you do it.”
“It wasn’t half as hard as it looked,” declared Frank.
“But that fellow was a most desperate-looking ruffian.”
“He seemed pretty desperate, but there’s not much behind his outward appearance. I saw that in the first place.”
“How could you see it?”
“Well, I will explain. He is masquerading here in cowboy rig, and he is doing that to impress the people of this place. He makes himself look as fierce and terrible as possible. That is for the purpose of terrifying people and making them stand in awe of him. He has a way of swaggering and bragging. Now, a real desperado seldom makes such an effort to convince people that he is desperate. Very often it is the case that the genuine desperado, the real dangerous man, is peaceful and mild in appearance, seeking to avoid rather than to attract attention. One of the most desperate ruffians the West ever produced—Slade—was as mild-mannered as a woman. Wild Bill, who was a ‘killer’ all his life, never swaggered and boasted of what he could do. Jesse James was not a boaster. I might name many others. In nine cases out of ten, the desperado who boasts and brags, who swaggers and tries to frighten everybody by his terrible appearance, is a craven at heart, and he may be handled with ease once he realizes he has met his master.”
“Merriwell,” said Havener, “it is a wonder to me how you read human character so well. Do you ever make a mistake?”