Tucson's hand fell away from his holster; he stepped back toward the door, away from the range boss and Ferguson.
Leviatt's face had crimsoned. "Mebbe I was runnin' a little bit wild——" he began.
"That's comin' down right handsome," said Ferguson.
He sheathed his gun and deliberately turned his back on Leviatt. The latter stood silent for a moment, his face gradually paling. Then he turned to where Tucson had taken himself and with his friend entered the bunkhouse. In an instant the old talk arose and the laughter, but many furtive glances swept Ferguson as he stood, talking quietly with Rope.
The following morning Stafford came upon Rope while the latter was throwing the saddle on his pony down at the corral gate.
"I heard something about some trouble between Dave Leviatt an' the new stray-man," said Stafford. "I reckon it wasn't serious?"
Rope turned a grave eye upon the manager. "Shucks," he returned, "I reckon it wasn't nothin' serious. Only," he continued with twitching lips, "Dave was takin' the stray-man's measure."
Stafford smiled grimly. "How did the stray-man measure up?" he inquired, a smile working at the corners of his mouth. "I reckon he wasn't none shy?"
Rope grinned, admiration glinting his eyes. "He's sure man's size," he returned, giving his attention to the saddle cinch.