“My last––What do you mean, damn you!” the ranchman thundered, his right hand moving to his belt.
There was a hurried movement among those of the crowd who, absorbed in the dialogue, had half-consciously crept nearer. But Haig appeared to have noticed neither Huntington’s motion nor the backing away of the spectators.
“And wouldn’t it have been reckless extravagance to pay good money for Sunnysides when you might just have come and taken him out of my corrals?”
For a few seconds Huntington, as if he could scarce believe that he heard aright, was speechless with amazement and rage.
“Say it, damn you!” he said chokingly. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t get so excited, or you may break a blood vessel, Cous––I beg your pardon, Mister Huntington.”
“Say it!” roared the ranchman.
Then Haig dropped his mask.
“I will say it,” he began in a voice that rang ominously. “I’ll say it so that even you cannot fail to understand me. I mean that I’m tired of your threats and persecutions. I mean that you have harassed me and my men at every opportunity. I mean that you drove that bunch of my cattle off the cliff last September. I mean that within twenty-four hours another fence has been cut, and that you know who did it. I mean that your attempt to buy my horse was only another of the contemptible and cowardly tricks you have played on me. I mean, Huntington, that you are a bully, a liar and a thief!”