“Nothing; I——”
“And that’s another lie! But understand that you stand by me, or I’ll see that you get what’s coming to you.”
Feeling that Wilkins was duly cowed, Barlow rose slowly and walked away.
CHAPTER XXI.
ON THE BORDERS OF DISGRACE.
He was no sooner out of sight than Wilkins sprang to his feet, his form trembling, his eyes blazing, his brain on fire with rage and hatred.
“You low-down ruffian!” he said, shaking his fist at the retreating man. “Do you think you can treat me that way and me not strike back at you? Well, you can’t! Because you’re a big bruiser you treat me that way. Well, I’ll make things warm for you in this fort, if I hang for it.”
He was fairly crying, yet did not know it, and sobs of violent rage shook him. After all, compared with Barlow, he was a mere boy, his face still beardless.
“I’ll get even with you for that blow, you villain, if it takes me a year!” said Wilkins.
He stooped by the side of the small canal that brought water to the roots of the cottonwoods, and with this water he bathed his face; yet, as he discovered later, in removing the blood from his lip he got a good deal of it on his handkerchief.
He did not leave the shelter of the cottonwoods for half an hour, and not until he had again secured control of his nerves.