“Now,” he said grimly, “you’re going to get the sort of spanking your mother didn’t give you enough of.”
One after another the resounding smacks came down, while Jenkins, his strength spent in futile struggle, could do nothing but writhe helplessly under the smarting blows. The sound of them penetrated to the front room. As the men there realized what was happening they broke into laughter so uproarious that it smote upon Jenkins’s ears and forced a hysterical shriek from between his gritted teeth. In Conrad’s heart it inspired compassion and he desisted.
“I guess that’ll do for this time,” he said, releasing his hold and standing the culprit on his feet. “I don’t want to have to hurt you, but let me tell you, you damned skunk,” and he seized Jenkins’s shoulders and gave him a vigorous shake, “if you ever dare talk about me again in that way, or tell another human being what you told me about Bancroft, I’ll make you wish you’d never been born.”
With a parting shake he let Jenkins fall back into the chair, sobbing aloud. Then he stalked to the door, not even doing his enemy the slight honor of going out backward.
CHAPTER VI
A STERN CHASE
As the shout which greeted Conrad’s entrance died away the Sheriff called out, “Now, gentlemen, you must all have one with me,” and every one lined up at the bar. A rollicking din of chaff and laughter filled the room, and no one except Little Jack Wilder noticed the entrance of a Mexican at the street door. He heard the step, turned quickly, and recognized the man who had told Tillinghurst that he was not Liberato Herrara. Glancing along the line of backs at the bar, the Mexican singled out Conrad and touched his arm.
“I beg your pardon, señor, but did you send some one to ride your mare?”