“He was a great hero of antiquity,” exclaimed Kellogg, “who did many wonderful feats.”
“That’s all right, then,” said the Pike man. “If you’re friendly, then I’m friendly. But if any man insults me he’ll find he’s tackled the wrong man. I can whip my weight in wildcats——”
Here he was subjected to an interruption.
Mr. Bickford could no longer suppress his indignation when at a little distance he saw his mustang, which this treacherous braggart had robbed him of, quietly feeding.
“Look here, old Rip-tail, or whatever you call yourself, I’ve got an account to settle with you.”
The Pike man started as he heard Mr. Bickford’s voice, which, being of a peculiar nasal character, he instantly recognized. He felt that the meeting was an awkward one, and he would willingly have avoided it. He decided to bluff Joshua off if possible, and, as the best way of doing it, to continue his game of brag.
“Who dares to speak to me thus?” he demanded with a heavy frown, looking in the opposite direction. “Who insults the Rip-tail Roarer?”
“Look this way if you want to see him,” said Joshua. “Put on your specs if your eyes ain’t good.”
The man from Pike could no longer evade looking at his late comrade. He pretended not to know him.
“Stranger,” said he, with one hand on the handle of his knife, “are you tired of life?”