“After you’ve got rich at it,” said Gregg.
“Well, haven’t you?” retorted Redfield. “Are you so greedy that nothing will stop you?”
Lize threw in a wise word. “The sporting-houses of Kansas City and Chicago keep old Sam poor.”
A roar of laughter followed this remark, and Gregg was stumped for a moment; but the son grinned appreciatively. “Now be good!”
Cavanagh turned to Virginia in haste to shield her from all that lay behind and beneath this sally of the older and deeply experienced woman. “The Supervisor is willing to yield a point—he knows what the New West will bring.”
Gregg growled out: “I’m not letting any of my rights slip.”
The girl was troubled by the war-light which she saw in the faces of the men about her, and vague memories of the words and stories she had overchanced to hear in her childhood came back to her mind—hints of the drunken orgies of the cowboys who went to the city with cattle, and the terrifying suggestion of their attitude toward all womankind. She set Cavanagh and his chief quite apart from all the others in the room, and at first felt that in young Gregg was another man of education and right living—but in this she was misled.
Lize had confidence enough in the ranger to throw in another malicious word. “Ross, old Bullfrog came down here to chase you up a tree—so he said. Did he do it?”
Gregg looked ugly. “I’m not done with this business.”
She turned to Ross. “Don’t let him scare you—his beller is a whole lot worse than his bite.”