"If you take my child, yo're not above taking my money, Lord Balshannon!"
Jim pawed his gun—"I take no stolen money!"
"Yo're speaking too loud," says McCalmont, "come over by the corral."
He walked over to the bars of the corral, Jim following.
"And now," McCalmont's voice went softer than ever, "I may allude to the fact that if any cur insults my daughter or me, there is apt to be some unpleasantness."
"Don't you think," says Jim, his hand on his gun, "that we had better go a little further off—so that Curly won't be disturbed when we fire?"
"Why, boy, air you proposin' to dispense yo' gun at me?"
"As you please! You called me a cur—and you'll eat your words or fight!"
"And you only called me a thief? Wall, I shorely am for a fact, and you're not a cur—no. I reckon I was some impulsive in saying that. Come, we won't quar'l, for I like you a whole lot for yo' playing up against me that-a-way. What are yo' plans?"
Jim was breathing hard and acting defiant still. "I want to join your gang!"