Saleratus Bill was looking at him steadily from his evil, red-rimmed eyes.
"Hold on," he drawled. "Go slow. I don't stand such talk."
Oldham spurred up close to him.
"Don't you try any of your gun-play or intimidation on me," he fairly shouted. "I won't stand for it. You'll hear what I've got to say, just as long as I choose to say it."
He eyed the gun-man truculently. Certainly even Bob could not have accused him of physical cowardice at that moment.
Saleratus Bill stared back at him with the steady, venomous glare of a rattlesnake. Then his lips, under his straggling, sandy moustache, parted in a slow grin.
"Say your say," he conceded. "I reckon you're mad; I reckon that boy man-handled you something scand'lous."
At the words Oldham's face became still more congested.
"But you look a-here," said Saleratus Bill, suddenly leaning across from his saddle and pointing a long, lean finger. "You just remember this: I took this yere job with too many strings tied to it. I mustn't hurt him; and I must see no harm comes to him; and I must be noways cruel to mama's baby. You had me hobbled, and then you cuss me out because I can't get over the rocks. If you'd turned me loose with no instructions except to disappear your man, I'd have earned my money."
He dropped his hand to the butt of his six-shooter, and looked his principal in the eye.