“How about the Indian?”
“Why, he—he's—”
“Only an Indian, eh? Well, you're entitled to your point of view. Only that mozo and I have slept under the same blanket so often—”
“You can't stop me from staking this claim, too” shouted the Boston man, and shook his skinny little fist under the Desert Rat's nose. The latter slapped him across the wrist.
“Pesky fly” he said.
“You can't stop me, I tell you.”
“I can. But I won't. I'm not a bully.”
“You think you can beat me out of my rights, do you? I'll show you. I'll beat you out of your half before I'm through with you.”
“On whose water!”
The bantering smile broadened to a grin—the graceless young desert wanderer threw back his head and laughed.