“I’m waitin’ fer your answer,” he said sharply.
Tresler now heard his words for the first time.
“Go slow, Jake, go slow,” retorted the rancher. “I like to digest the position thoroughly. You put it so well.”
The sarcasm had grown more fierce by reason of the restraint the rancher was putting on himself. And this restraint was further evident in the movement of the hand which had now settled itself upon the body of the lamp, and clutched it nervously.
Jake no longer kept check on himself. And his answer came in a roar.
“You shall take my price, or——”
“Keep calm, you blundering jackass!” the blind man rasped between his clenched teeth.
“No, you don’t, Mr. blasted Marbolt!” cried Jake, springing to his feet and moving out to the middle of the room threateningly. “No, you don’t!” he cried again; “I’ve had enough of that. God’s curse on you for a low swine! I’ll talk no more; it’s ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ Remember”—he bent over toward the sitting man and pointed in his face with fierce delight—“I am your master now, an’ ef you don’t do as I say, by G——! but I’ll make you whine for mercy.”
And Marbolt’s answer came with a crash of brass and smashing of glass, a leap of flame, then darkness, as he hurled the lamp to the floor and extinguished it. It came in silence, but a silence ruffled by the sound of sudden movement. It came, as was only to be expected from a man like him, without warning, like the silent attack of a puma, and with as deadly intent.