“Any girl of the Lassiter tribe ought to be damn glad of an opportunity to marry and live respectable,” Freel stated, and was instantly aware that he had made a grave mistake, for that quality which he had sensed in Carver was now quite openly apparent in his eyes.
“So you’re going to make her respectable,” Carver said. “That’s real generous of you, I’d say. It’s rumored around that you set up to be a bad one. I just heard you confess it. Let’s see how wicked you can be when your badness all boils over.”
He took a step toward Freel and the marshal backed away, reading Carver’s purpose in his eyes.
“It’s never my policy to start a quarrel without good reason,” he announced.
“I’m laying myself out to supply the reason,” Carver said. “I always did want to see a regular desperado working at his trade.” He removed his hat with his left hand and brought it with a back-handed slash across the marshal’s face. “You’re wicked clear through,” he said. “You’re just as bad as you can be.”
He swung the hat twice again but Freel turned and walked toward his horse.
“You’re not bad; you’re just tainted,” Carver stated. “I always felt that about you and now I know for sure.”
The marshal mounted and turned upon Carver a face set in lines of stern disapproval.
“I refuse to force an issue except in the regular routine of duty,” he proclaimed. “This is not a matter of official business. Otherwise——”
He intended that the unfinished statement should carry an impressive implication of power held in reserve and which he controlled only with the greatest difficulty. He turned and rode off down the bottoms.