“That’s not the talk for a brave young chap like you to put up, Dunbar,” said the scout sternly. “We’ll see what we can do to end this rough situation by more honorable methods.”
“Who are you?” demanded Dunbar, facing the scout squarely.
“Buffalo Bill is what I’m usually called,” was the reply.
The words caused a sensation. Dunbar jumped, and stared; Red Steve also jumped, but in the direction of the ladder.
“Catch that man!” called the scout. “I’ve got a horse outside, and I don’t want him to get away with it.”
Dunbar caught Red Steve and jerked him roughly from the ladder. The spirit seemed to have been all taken out of Steve. His greatest desire now, it seemed, was to keep as great a distance between him and the scout as he could. Pushing against the earthen shelf on the farther side of the room, he watched the scout with weasel-like eyes.
“Where were you going in such a hurry, Red Steve?” demanded the scout.
“I don’t want no truck with you, that’s all,” answered the red-haired Texan. “I don’t want nothin’ ter do with ye, an’ that’s flat.”
“Then you were merely trying to cut loose from my society?”
“I wanted ter git out, an’ I want ter git out now. Why the blazes didn’t ye say ye was Buffler Bill afore? If ye had, I’d ’a’ got out a heap quicker. D’you hold any spite fer me drorin’ the gun on ye?”