"I'll sell you that brand cheap," supplicated Pecos, but the cowman only showed his teeth in derision.
"Wouldn't take 'em as a gift," he said, shortly.
"Well, go to hell, then!" snarled the rustler, and jerking his horse around he started toward Verde Crossing.
"Hey, where you goin'?" called Crittenden, but Pecos did not reply. "You'll git into trouble," he persisted, following anxiously after him. "Say, do you want to break into jail?"
Pecos halted on the rim of the mesa, turned deliberately about and faced him.
"No," he said, "do you?"
"Why, what d' you mean?" demanded the cowman, leaving off his blustering and coming nearer.
"Well, if they throw me in I'll tell all I know," replied Pecos. "That's all. They may soak me for the Monkey-wrenches, but I'll sure git you on them Wine-glasses, so you better not try any funny business. What I'm lookin' for now is travellin' expenses—I'm not so stuck on this country that I couldn't be induced to leave it!"
"No-o," sneered the cowman, "I don't reckon you are. They ain't a man between Tonto and the Gila that don't know you for a rustler now. More 'n that, you've defied the officers of the law. No, Mr. Dalhart," he said, a cold glint coming into his eye, "I won't give you a dam' cent for your burnt-over cattle and if you take my advice you'll hit the high places for New Mexico."
"Well, I won't take it, then," replied Pecos, sullenly. "I'm goin' down to the Crossing to see Angy and—hey! there's the old boy now, flaggin' me from the store. Well, good-bye, old Cock Eye, don't worry about me none, I know my way around!" He favored his former employer with a flaunting gesture of farewell, leaned over to catch the forward jump of his horse, and went scampering down the slope and across the level, yipping playfully at every bound.