“So far,” Scott answered and added doggedly, “but I can’t keep it up much longer. The sooner I get into the brush the better.”
“Maybe you are right,” said the supervisor thoughtfully. “If we can get hold of a good pony this morning maybe we can start after dinner.”
“That will suit me,” Scott said. “I don’t want to start life here with a fight but a man cannot stand this kind of thing forever.”
“Then we will get out as soon as possible,” said the supervisor with decision. “Jed Clark and his crowd would like nothing better than to get you into a fight.”
“Then why not have it and get it over with?” Scott asked. He had been the champion boxer at college, and had many an hour’s training from an old ex-prize fighter in his father’s stable. He was not naturally pugnacious, but he felt confident that he could give a good account of himself and the prospect of a fight did not worry him.
“That would work all right,” said the supervisor smiling, “if they fought your way, but they don’t. They fight with guns in this country. They figure that you know nothing about that and would make you ridiculous if you started anything. That’s what they want.”
Scott had not thought of that. He could see now why Mr. Ramsey had been so anxious to keep him out of a mix-up. He had never handled a pistol, had never dreamed of shooting a man, and was somewhat dazed by this new situation.
The supervisor saw his predicament and came to his rescue. “Have you the money in hand to buy a horse and an outfit?” he asked, “or will we have to buy it on ‘tick’?”
“I have three hundred dollars,” Scott answered absently, still preoccupied with the gun problem.
“Oh, I guess that will be enough,” the supervisor laughed. “Let’s go down to the corral and see what they have there in the way of horse flesh.”