Ackerman regarded them pityingly and shrugged his shoulders. "I pass! Ain't there no way to get it through yore heads that I don't believe he's interested in anythin' but us? It's like drillin' in granite. I hammer an' hammer, twist th' drill an' hammer some more; an' after hard work all I got is a little hole, with a cussed sight more granite below it! I feel like rammin' in a charge of powder an' blowin' it to h—l an' gone. Look at me! Listen! Put away yore marbles, an' think!"
"Why don't you fellers listen?" grinned Fleming.
"Just because he went south don't say he stayed there," hammered Ackerman. "He wasn't scared away; not by a d—d sight. I know that. Fleming, Gates, an' Harrison know it. We all know it. He went south. But he can turn, can't he? If he can't, he's in a h—l of a fix! No tellin' where he'll end up—Patagonia, mebby. All right, he can turn. It's only a question of where! He's goin' to turn; an' when he does, I'm goin' to be there an' see him do it. I'm goin' to make it my business to find him, watch him, an' trail him. If he turns north I'm goin' to get him. An' if you'll take any advice from me, you'll all begin to take long rides, north, east, south, an' west; mostly southwest an' west. You'll ride in pairs, an' you'll keep yore fool eyes open. Th' time has passed for loafin' around here, shootin' craps an' swappin' lies. Yo're smokin' on an open powder keg; an' d—n you, you ain't got sense enough to know it!" He raised his clenched fists. "I mean it! D—n—you—you—ain't—got—sense—enough—to—know—it!"
Quigley laughed, although uneasily; for Ackerman's earnestness carried unrest with it. "Jim, Jim," he said kindly, "we've been up here a long time; an' we've given these hills a name that guards 'em for us. Them that bothered us disappeared; an' th' lesson was learned."
"Was it?" shouted Ackerman. "He didn't learn it! He come up here, plump in th' face of yore warnin', in spite of what he had heard in Hastings! Why? Because it's his business to come! Because he's paid to come! He ain't one of them Hastings loafers! He ain't no sleepy puncher, satisfied to draw down his pay, an' th' h—l with th' ranch! I tell you you never saw a man like him before. Can't you see it? Logan found out that he was a real man, a gun man, an' not scared of h—l an' high water. Then he quits Logan, an' comes up here. Can't you see it? Can't you? Think, d—n it; THINK!"
"I did; have been, an' am," snapped Quigley angrily. "Thinkin' is one thing; goin' loco, another. I think yo're a d—d fool!"
Ackerman threw up his hands in a helpless gesture. "All right; have it yore own way. I give it up. I pass before th' draw. But I ain't swallerin' no pap an' gazin' at th' moon. I'm goin' to keep my eyes on Nelson."
"You want to; he's a bad hombre," said Fleming uneasily.
Ackerman wheeled and smiled at the speaker. "He is; an' he's a d—d good man. I takes off my hat to him; an' I wish to heaven we had a few Nelsons up here; this ranch would hum. An' you'd 'a' done better if you'd follered yore own advice. I won't make th' same mistake twice. Th' minute he makes a false move I'll plug him. I underrated him before; now I'm goin' to overrate him, to be on th' safe side. But you ain't got a thing to say: three to one, an' you let him make fools out of you!"
"I admits it," said Fleming. "An' that's why I'm tellin' you to look out for him. He's as quiet as a flea; an' as harmless as blastin' powder. I wish you luck."