“All right!” assented Phil. And the two walked up Main Street together, up toward the railway tracks, past the barn Phil had hidden in on his first, unofficial visit to Vernock.
“How,––how did you manage to beat off those cowpunchers?” asked Phil.
“Easy as breathing! I once punched the heart out of that rotter McGregor. Beat a man once, good and plenty, and it isn’t hard beating him again. And that doesn’t only refer to fighting, either. But say! if I didn’t know you were a stranger hereabout, I would have said Rob Roy’s picking on you was a put up job.”
A pang shot through Phil at the suggestion, and it set him wondering.
“First thing you’ve got to do, young fellow, is to get up your strength and go back and lick the stuffing out of that scum. If you don’t, your life won’t be worth living in Vernock.”
Phil laughed.
“That’s straight goods!” returned Langford, his Scottish burr turning the Western phrase strangely.
“Well––I don’t mind if I do,” said Phil.
They called in at the railway depot, and Phil got his two grips.