“What do you want here?”
“I want you, Phelps,” answered the scout.
A harsh laugh escaped the cattleman’s lips.
“You called on me once before,” said he, “and you got away that time. You’ll not be so lucky now, Buffalo Bill.”
“You mean that you will try to prevent me from going away when I get ready to leave?” asked the scout calmly.
“That’s what I mean.”
“Why will you do that?”
“Don’t you try to play lame-duck with me!” answered Phelps fiercely. “You can do it with Lige Benner, but I’m cut out of different cloth. You’ve been helping that young whelp over at the Star-A. What’s come of it? Jake lies in there”—he waved an angry hand at the house behind him—“unconscious and fighting for life. That’s what’s come of your work on the Brazos. But you’ve done more, Buffalo Bill!”
Phelps was rapidly lashing himself into uncontrollable fury.
“What more have I done?” returned the scout, still calmly.