To him came Gallagher. “Holy doodle!” exclaimed that worthy, with a sort of miserable heartiness, “he sure went after yu’ some!”
The policeman did not answer, but breathing in deep, heavy gasps, and streaming with perspiration, slowly raised his head. At the unmistakable silent animosity depicted on that drawn, bitter face, the rancher changed countenance and retreated slightly with a deprecating gesture.
“Now don’t yu’ go for to blame me, Sargint!” he began. “—’Member I warned yu’!”
Ellis looked at him loweringly, with evil irresolution. The man was right, he reflected, but nothing makes us so unforgiving as the consciousness of being in the wrong.
“Warned me?” he echoed, with a mirthless laugh, and at the same time blowing a stream of blood from his nose. “Oh, aye, yu’ warned me all right—like Paddy warned his landlord!...”
Regaining his breath somewhat, he resumed with savage ill-humor. “Yu’ve an ugly mug, Gallagher.... If I thought for a minute yu’d handed me this here stick of dynamite for a josh, I’d push what’s meant to be yore face right in, an’ don’t yu’ forget it!”
The other’s dog-like visage contracted with a grin and he emitted a short, barking laugh.
“Easy! easy there, Sargint!... Now don’t yu’ start for to get mad ’bout it,” he chuckled. “Never yu’ mind my mug. I ain’t a beauty, I know.... But handsome is that handsome does.... ’Member, I’m lendin’ yu’ a horse.”
At the remembrance of the man’s generosity, and his good-natured response, Benton’s short-lived fit of bad temper quickly evaporated, and he felt guilty and ashamed at his own illogical outburst.
“Gallagher,” he said hoarsely, spitting out a mouthful of blood and dust, “I guess I’m in wrong.... I take it all back.”