The hot blood flush passed from Roger; he felt himself growing comfortably cool; and within he laughed silently.
"No," he said softly, "I can see that you aren't crackers. What jail held you last?"
The stranger swore foully, a string of oaths that reeked with the stench of corner saloons. He pushed his hat far back upon his round head, looked Roger up and down contemptuously, and swore some more.
"Know who you're talking to?" he demanded. "Better get wise, you——"
Again he polluted the air with his foulness.
Roger waited until the stream of filth had ceased.
"Are you going to explain what you're doing here?" he asked.
"Am—I? Am I going to explain? Hell! Are you going to explain, you mean."
"Yes," said Roger, and leaped forward.
Even Higgins whooped in surprise at the swiftness of the spring. Before the stranger could move Roger was close to him. His right fist swung from far behind caught the man full on the solar plexus, literally lifted him off the spoil bank and knocked him into the water of the ditch.