He turned abruptly to Boyle.
“And the fighting, too, when necessary. You keep that little gun in its place when you’re around me, young man, or you’ll get hurt! One more break like that to show me that you’ve got it, and you and I will mix. Just put that down in your book.”
“Oh, all right, pardner!” returned Boyle with that jerky insolence which men of his kind assume when they realize that they have been called, and called hard. He buttoned his coat.
“And as far as Miss Gates is concerned, consider her out of this case,” said Slavens. “But I want to have some private talk with you.”
They walked over to the place where Boyle’s horse stood, and there, out of the hearing of Agnes, Slavens sounded Jerry sharply on his intentions. It was plain that there was no bluff in Boyle; he meant what he threatened, and he was small enough to carry it through.
As an illustration of his far-reaching influence, Boyle pointed out to Slavens that nobody had approached the physician with an offer to buy him out, although one had appeared anxious enough to open negotiations the day he filed. 269
“When we tell a man to lay down in this part of the country, he lays down,” said Boyle; “and when we order him to walk on his hind legs, he walks. Nobody will offer you any money for that place; it isn’t worth anything to a soul on earth but me. You couldn’t sell out in a century. You’ll get that through your nut if you hang around here long enough.”
For a little while Slavens thought it over, walking away a few paces and appraising the situation studiously. Suddenly he wheeled and confronted Boyle, leveling his finger at his face.
“Your bluff don’t go, Boyle!” said he. “You’d just as well get on your horse and light out; and if you want to bring it to a fight, then let it be a fight. We’ll meet you on any ground you pick.”
“You’re a fool!” snarled Boyle.