The noise Chub made drew the freighter's attention. The man turned and gave a savage yell when he saw Chub.
"Git off'n thar, you!" he whooped, and with the words his long whip leaped backward in a sinuous coil.
Snap! went the lash, like the report of a pistol, and Chub tumbled into the road, holding both hands to the side of his throat.
Matt's temper began to mount at the brutal way Chub was treated. The incident, while unpleasant for Chub, afforded Matt time to pass the man and gain the heads of the leaders of the team.
"Stop!" he shouted, grabbing the bits of the horses and pushing them back on the "wheelers."
The freighter had already clamped the brake-shoes to the wheels, so that the wagon, although on a slope, did not run down on the wheel-horses. Taking his attention from Chub, the man turned in the seat and glared at Matt.
"Git away from them hosses!" he shouted, jumping to his feet, with the whip in his hand. "Git away, I tell ye, or I'll snap out one o' yer eyes with this here whip-lash. I kin do it—don't you never think I can't."
"You'd better cool down," cautioned Matt, his gray eyes glimmering, "if you don't want to get into more trouble than you can take care of."
"I ain't goin' ter take none o' yer back-talk, nuther," whooped the man. "Le'go them bits!"
He began lifting the handle of the whip, preparatory to using the lash.