[TRICKED BY TWO.]
"This is a public path," said Guy Hereford quietly.
"Ay, but you can't use it," returned the man he faced, with an ugly glint in his eyes.
"All the same, I'm going to," said Guy coolly. "I'll trouble you to move out of my way, Mr. Harvey Blissett."
For a moment the two faced one another on the narrow sandy road between the bare, barbed-wire fences over which hung the fragrantly blooming orange branches. Both were mounted, Hereford on a well-groomed Florida pony, Blissett on a big, rough Montana, an ugly beast with a nose like a camel and a savage eye.
"I'll give you one more chance," growled Blissett. "Turn and make tracks."
"This is my road," said Hereford, as serenely as ever.
"Then 'twill be your road to kingdom come," roared Blissett, and flashed his pistol from his hip pocket.
But Hereford's steady eyes had never wavered. He was no tenderfoot. With the bully's movement he ducked, and at the same moment drove spurs into his pony's flanks.