CHAPTER XXIII
THE BULLY IS HUMBLED
Many a man would have been startled by such a direct accusation, but J. Rutherford Brown had been in a similar position before and was not to be scared thus easily. He turned slowly, put his feet on the floor and gazed coldly at Hockley.
“Young man, you are mistaken,” he said. “And if you dare to repeat your words you will be sorry.”
“But I say—” went on the youth, and then the look in the eyes of the man made him pause. It was a merciless, crafty face that peered into his own and it made Hockley shiver in spite of himself.
“We had several fair and square games of cards,” went on the man from Montana. “And you lost your money. Don’t be a calf to cry over it. If you are in hard luck say so, and I’ll—well, I’ll lend you ten dollars.”
As he concluded J. Rutherford Brown calmly took from his hip pocket a big roll of bills—a large portion of them Hockley’s bills—and drew forth one of the denomination mentioned.
“Do you want this?” he asked, extending the bill between the tips of his fingers.
“Ye—yes,” stammered the youth, and took it. “But—but——”
“I don’t want to talk over the affair of yesterday,” interrupted the man. “If you will remember, I lost something before the luck turned. If you had quit the game then, I should not have squealed. Besides that, I took you away, so that you would not get into trouble while you slept. I spent ten dollars for carriage fare, but we will let that pass.”
Having thus delivered himself, J. Rutherford Brown hoisted his feet to the table once more and resumed the reading of his newspaper. Hockley looked at him in amazement not unmixed with consternation. He had never before met such a fellow as this. He did not know how to proceed, and walked away revolving the situation in his mind.