Startled by this question, apparently coming from a clear sky, Roy did not reply for a moment.
“Answer me!� growled Froud. He thrust his left hand out and seized the boy by the throat.
Like a flash, Roy realized his intention. For reasons of his own, Froud wanted Roy out of the way. If he could get him to draw, he could kill him in cold blood, and then say that he shot in self-defense. The fact that Roy had his gun in his hand would corroborate his story.
With anger surging within him at the cowardly trick, Roy sat perfectly still. Froud wound his fingers about the boy’s throat and, with a sneering laugh, made as if to choke him. Then with a grunt as if of contempt he took his hand away.
“You’re not worth it,� he snarled. “You an’ that sissy brother of yores ought to be travelin’ with a nurse!�
He looked keenly at Roy, but the young rancher did not reply. He stared long and steadily back at Froud.
“So you know Checkered Shirt, hey?� the rustler mused. “Well, I don’t! I never saw him in my life! Get that? I don’t know who he is!� Realizing that, by this very denial, forcible as it was, he admitted the thing he was repudiating, Froud stopped.
“You think yore pretty clever, don’t you?� he demanded.
Roy made no answer. He kept staring at Froud.
“Answer me, you rat! Thought you’d corner me an’ make me confess to a thing I never did, hey?�