“I wouldn’t put it so strong as that, Nate,” said the scout, with a quiet laugh. “If you’re my friend, though, you’ll put up your gun. I’ll guarantee that Jake Phelps doesn’t take any advantage of you.”
“But you don’t understand——”
“I’m going to understand all about this before I get through. In the meantime, you’ll please understand that I have requested you to put up your revolver.”
“She’s up,” said Dunbar promptly.
“Buenos! Now, Nate, kindly talk at the back of my head and tell me the cause of this flare-up.”
Old Nomad was standing in the door, leaning negligently against the door casing and fanning himself with his hat. Pard Buffler was “on the job,” and the trapper realized that there wasn’t any cause for any one to worry. But that peacemaker racket, while all right in its way, wasn’t making much of a hit with Nomad.
“I was sitting here minding my own business,” said Dunbar, “when Jake Phelps came in. He began saying things to r’ile me. His palaver wasn’t thrown at me, but was fired at the clerk. I allowed him to talk about me as much as he pleased, but when he turned his dirty tongue loose on Dick Perry, then on you, and, at the last, dragged in the name of my wife, my patience had reached the limit. He’s a low-down whelp!”
“What did he say about me?” inquired the scout.
“He said you were a meddler in other men’s affairs and——”
“Which was the truth, in a way.”