“But why put it off till to-night?”
“Mr. Harris has his own reasons,” was the yearling’s stately reply.
“I reckon he has!” growled Texas. “He wants to git us out o’ camp so’s he can raise another yell an’ git us caught. Do you think I’m such an idiot as that, you white-faced ole coyote you?”
“Take it easy, Texas,” laughed Mark. “This is my quarrel. But how about that objection, Mr. Vance? I don’t want to walk into any trap, you know, and I know that Bull Harris is afraid of me.”
“If you are coward enough to refuse his challenge,” snarled Vance, “say so and don’t try to make up excuses! Mr. Harris is not afraid of you, and if he cannot give you the thrashing you deserve for your contemptible tricks, by jingo! I don’t mind saying that I will. Do you understand that, confound you? And not only you, Mallory, but that crazy idiot of a Texan, too——”
“Wow! Whoop! You——”
Five members of the Banded Seven sat on Texas just then. And Vance went on with his address to Mark.
The reader will, of course, perceive that the yearling was playing a part—and playing it well. The angrier he got Mark the more apt his plot would be to succeed. He knew that Mark was too honorable to strike him now, whatever his insults.
“That bluff about suspecting us is pretty hollow,” he continued. “You don’t need to go away from the camp. If you weren’t too much of blamed coward and stuff you’d not offer the excuse. You can meet us just beyond the sentry line and go with us. And if there’s any yelling done we’ll be caught as well as you. Do you see? If you’re afraid of a crowd’s pitching in let that fool of a Texas bring his guns. You bring some, too. We aren’t afraid of the whole seven of you!”
“Very bold indeed,” laughed Mark, for once. “What time shall we meet?”