The first speaker looked ashamed of himself, and probably would have answered in a quiet way if another man who was standing near had not put in:
“Don’t pay any attention to him, Mr. Judson. Let him rave. If he’s such a fool that he can’t make money, it’s not your fault, and he has no business to complain to you.”
“But,” said Mr. Judson, “he makes a serious charge against——”
The first speaker did not hear this, for he was angry almost beyond his control, “mad clean through,” as the saying is in that part of the country, Colorado, where the scene took place.
He did not hear, because he broke in violently:
“I’ve been swindled, robbed, do you hear? And you’re just as much to blame as if you’d been the only one in the scheme. You wear the clothes of a preacher, but, by——! you’re a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and you deserve to be shot on the spot. If you want to keep that[{3}] pious skin of yours whole, you’d better not come around Hank Low’s way.”
“But, Mr. Low, listen to me,” the clergyman begged.
“Not a word, you black-coated devil! When I think of the way my wife and kids have been cheated by a sneak thief of a minister, it puts murder in my heart, it does! I won’t talk to you, for fear I’ll forgit and take the law into my own hands. Geddap, Jenny.”
The man’s old mare responded to the command and a lash of the whip, and jogged away, dragging the rickety old wagon in which sat the angry Hank Low alone.
The clergyman turned, with a sigh, to his companion.