"That was my limit. My cup was nearly full of coffee, an' I dashed the coffee in his face, hoping to get hold of his gun. But he jumped back an' fired. He missed me, an' I hit him in the center of the forehead with the coffee cup. It was big an' heavy, and it—killed him. This was just what the bunch wanted; but in spite of their precautions I got away, came north, and got into another business; but that didn't suit either; so here I am, with the worst gang in this country achin' to get track o' me."
"How long ago was this, Jim?" sez I.
"Call me Dick," sez he. "It was about four years ago now. I leased my land for more'n enough to pay taxes, but I suppose it will all blow up sometime, an' they'll get me in the end."
"I don't suppose the' 's any way to go back an' square it, is there?" sez I.
"Hell, no!" he sez, bitter as death. "They own Texas."
"Haven't you any friends there who would swear it was self-defense?" sez I.
"I've got plenty of friends there—that's how I got away; but they don't dare to fight that cattle crowd in the open," sez he.
"Looks purty bad," sez I.
"It's rotten bad!" sez he. "But this is business all right. Whenever I hear any one talk about the morals of business it drives me wild. The' ain't any morals in business. The best it ever is, is straight gamblin'—I say the BEST it ever is, is straight gamblin'"—Jim's voice was gritty with wrath—"while at the worst," he went on, "it stoops to murder, wholesale and retail, it ruins homes, it manufactures thieves an' perjurers an'—"
"You remind me of a feller named Fergoson," sez I. "He said that at the best, business was stealin'."