“H’m!” The sheriff crossed his legs and stuck his thumbs into the arm-holes of his vest, revealing a nickle-plated star on the lapel of the latter. “H’m. Your name’s Hollis, an’ you own the Circle Bar. Seems I’ve heard of you.” He squinted his eyes at Hollis. “You’re Jim Hollis’s boy, ain’t you?” His eyes flashed with a sudden, contemptuous light. “Tenderfoot, ain’t you? Come out here to try an’ show folks how to run things?”
Hollis’s face slowly paled. He saw Greasy grinning. “I suppose it makes little difference to you what I am or what I came out here for,” he said quietly; “though, if I were to be required to give an opinion I should say that there is room for improvement in this county in the matter of applying its laws.”
The sheriff laughed harshly. “You’ll know more about this country after you’ve been here a while,” he sneered.
“Mebbe he’ll know more about how to run a law shebang, too,” dryly observed Norton, “after he’s watched Bill Watkins run her a little.”
“I don’t reckon anyone ast you to stick your gab in this here affair?” demanded the sheriff of Norton.
“No,” returned Norton, drawling, “no one asked me. But while we’re handin’ out compliments we might as well all have a hand in it. It strikes me that when a man’s runnin’ a law shop he ought to run her.”
“I reckon I’ll run her without any help from you, Norton!” snapped the sheriff.
“Why, sure!” agreed the latter, his gaze level as his eyes met the sheriff’s, his voice even and sarcastic. “But I’m tellin’ you that this man’s my friend an’ if there’s any more of them compliments goin’ to be handed around I’m warnin’ you that you want to hand them out soft an’ gentle like. That’s all. I reckon we c’n now proceed.”
The sheriff’s face bloated poisonously. He flashed a malignant glance at Hollis. “Well,” he snapped, “what’s the charge?”
“I have already told you,” returned Hollis. “It is stealing cattle.”