However, there was a certain tell-tale shrinking in his manner which Badger could not fail to notice. It convinced the Westerner that Merriwell was on the right track, and his anger burned into deep rage.
"I can see from your manner that you did. Agnew, you've got the heart of a wolf! That's whatever!"
Agnew was truly playing a game, but it was not a card-game. He had learned to hate Badger. To strike the Westerner pleased him now almost as well as a stroke against Merriwell. He dropped the cards and pushed back, as if he feared the Kansan would leap at his throat.
"Wh-what do you mean?" he demanded.
"On the gun-club grounds!" said Badger, rising from the table. "You slipped some dynamite shells into Merriwell's box, and I got one of them. It came near tearing my hand and arm to pieces, and it might have killed me. No thanks to you that it didn't. Your intentions were good enough."
Agnew began to bluster, but in a low tone.
"I'm not used to being accused of such things. How do you know there was anything the matter with the shell? Are you hunting for trouble?"
"That was the trick of an Apache, Agnew!"
"Don't let the proprietor hear you," Agnew begged, and his voice was again as smooth as silk. "What is the use of rowing? I say that I did nothing of the kind, and you're a fool for thinking so. Whoever hinted that to you lied."
"I allow you might as well say that I lied!"