"I don't know about that," grumbled Bowles, with the affair of the morning still fresh in mind; "I'm afraid he'll hit me with his gun."
"Well, here, we'll fix that," said Brig, hastily stripping the heavy quirt from his wrist. "You turn yore pistol over to the boss and take this loaded quirt—then if Hardy offers to club you with his gun you knock his eye out with this!"
He made a vicious pass into the air with the bludgeon-like handle, holding the quirt by the lash, and passed it over to Bowles.
"Now you're heeled!" he said approvingly. "That's worse'n a gun, any time, and you kin hit 'im as hard as you please. Jest hang that on yore wrist, where it'll be handy, and turn that cussed six-shooter in."
The matter was still a little mixed in Bowles' mind, and he felt that he was treading upon new and dangerous ground, but his evil passions were still afoot and he longed gloomily for his revenge. So when they got into camp that evening he went over to Henry Lee's tent, with Brigham to act as his witness.
"Mr. Lee," he said, speaking according to instructions, "I've had a little difficulty with one of the boys, and I'd like to turn in my gun. I don't want to have any trouble."
"All right, Mr. Bowles," answered the boss very quietly. "Just throw it on my bed. What's the matter, Brig?"
"Oh, nothin' much," replied Brigham. "You saw it yorese'f—last night."
"Um," assented Henry Lee, glancing for a moment at Bowles' skinned cheek. "Well, we don't want to have any racket now, boys—not while we've got these wild cattle on our hands—and I'm much obliged. Hope you don't have any more trouble, Mr. Bowles."
He bowed them out of the tent without any more words, and they proceeded back to the camp. A significant smile went the rounds as Bowles came back from the tent, but in the morning he went to the corral as usual.