“When Jake and that cur at the Star-A quarreled in Hackamore, you sent Jake out of town; then, by thunder, you sent Dunbar after him! You’re at the bottom of the whole villainous business! You set Dunbar on to steal the pay-roll money, and——”
“I wouldn’t go any further with that, if I were you,” cut in the scout significantly. “I reckon you understand that I’ve heard about enough in that strain.”
“You’ll hear all I’m going to tell!” stormed Phelps. “I’m on my own ground here, Cody! This isn’t the Star-A ranch. You haven’t got Benner and his outfit to stand between you and trouble. You were a fool to come here like this. But that’s your fault. Now that you’re here, you’ll take what I’m going to give you. I’ll square up for Jake!”
Jumping back, Phelps gave vent to a furious yell. At the same moment he jerked a revolver from his hip.
The cowboys, out behind the house, heard the yell, and came rushing around in front. One of them carried a rope.
But, if Phelps had been quick in executing his manœuvre, the scout had been even quicker. Seizing the angry man’s arm, the scout wrestled with him for possession of the revolver.
It was a critical moment for Buffalo Bill. He was fighting the cattleman on his own ground, and cowboys were rushing to the scene.
But the scout secured the revolver. That was the main thing. Throwing his left arm around Phelps’ throat, the scout backed against the log wall of the building, keeping the cattle baron in front of him by main strength. With his right hand he pushed out the revolver over Phelps’ squirming shoulder.
“Steady, you men!” called the scout, recognizing Prouther as one of the six cowboys. “I didn’t come here to make war, but to make peace. Leave us alone and all will be well. Try to stir up trouble, and a good many things will go wrong.”
“Take him, confound you!” roared Phelps, fighting for his freedom and half strangled by the arm around his throat.