Denton flew into a rage and cursed the tall man before him, denouncing him with wild anger and opprobrious epithets. Meanwhile, the men who sat on their horses not far away squirmed with excitement when they heard that outburst.
“See here,” said Panther Pete, pushing back his hat, and showing, as he opened his mouth, cruel white teeth that gleamed like the teeth of the animal whose name he bore, “I’ve killed men for less; and I don’t allow any man to call me such names. So, this—for you!”
Panther Pete’s revolver leaped out, there was instantly a flash and a report, and the reckless young man pitched forward off the steps, falling prone on the walk. Panther Pete spurned him with his foot.
“You fool!” he said; “you got what you needed. Why did you make me do it? I didn’t want to shoot you, but I can’t stand everything. Well, you’ve got your medicine, and you won’t trouble me any longer.”
He looked about, and glanced at the house.
Apparently no other person was in the house, for no one appeared or came forth upon the street to ascertain the meaning of the shot. That was no doubt due to the fact that in Scarlet Gulch there was each night good deal of reckless shooting, which usually meant no more than that the shooters were drunk.
Seeing that he was apparently unobserved, Panther Pete walked quickly back to where the men were holding his horse.
“Now for the other house,” he muttered. “I know where she is likely to be, even if that fool thought I didn’t, and wouldn’t tell me.”
When he mounted he said nothing of the man he had shot, and who lay now sprawled out on the walk in front of those steps. “Into the other street,” was his short command, as he took the reins and sprang tip into the saddle.
They clattered away and were soon in a street which ran parallel with the one left behind them.