"This is a devil of a business," he began abruptly, addressing the storekeeper, "and I should like to hear what you've got to say about it." His lips closed tightly, and there was a dangerous light shining in his eyes.
"Ah, about the carrying off of the Sanchez girl," said Backus, with a nervous affectation of taking it all rather lightly; "well, yes, it is a devil of a business, as you say; it's the impidentest thing as ever I heard of. Who ever saw the like of it?"
"It's a serious matter, I'd have you to know," returned the prospector with rapidly rising anger; "it's a dreadful thing for a woman to be carried off by these infernal scoundrels, and for you of all men to speak lightly of it is nothing less than an outrage. You mark my words." He was exceedingly indignant with this man for his previous conduct, and that he should assume a flippant tone now was unbearable.
"Wal', I'm sorry, real sorry about it, of course," said Backus; "and it's spoilt our little game we had on for getting that information out of them Navajos, for the present anyway."
"I'll trouble you not to talk about 'our' little game," retorted the other hotly. "I cautioned you against mixing yourself up with those scoundrelly Navajos, and don't you go to imply that I'm involved with you in any way; I could never look Don Nepomuceno in the face again if I shared your responsibility for encouraging the villains."
"Seems to me," sneered Backus, "that for a man as puts on so much style, and takes up such tonified notions as you, talking about 'never going outside your own colour' and the like, you make pretty considerable of a fuss about a Mexican ranchero and the trouble he's got himself into."
"I call him a whiter man than you, for one thing," exclaimed Stephens; "and for another, mark me, I hold you personally responsible for this outrage. It's a more serious matter for you than you seem to be aware of. You've made yourself liable by the way you behaved yesterday with those redskins, giving them that whiskey and letting them shoot all about your place."
"Why, you was shooting with 'em yourself for one thing," retorted the Texan with intentional insolence in his tone; "and, for another, you mark me, I didn't give 'em no whiskey." He was deliberately mocking Stephens; but the latter was in no mood to put up with it, and flinging his right leg over the mare's neck he jumped to the ground facing the quarter-blood Cherokee. He threw the mare's rein to Faro to hold; it was a trick he had taught him, and the dog stood there obediently with it in his jaws.
"I say you sold them the whiskey, then, if you didn't give it," he exclaimed, full of scorn for the mean evasion of the storekeeper. "They were excited with liquor when I came down there yesterday. I smelt it on them right there at your house. Don't you dare open your lips to deny it."
"It's no such a d—d thing!" cried the storekeeper with an ugly look, confident that no one had seen him hand over the two bottles to Mahletonkwa; the next instant he felt Stephens's clenched fist strike him full on his lying mouth, and he went staggering backward.