“What did you expect to do at this meetin’?” queried Marsh Hartwell.
“For one thing,” said Jack coldly, “I didn’t expect to be insulted. I know I’m an outsider, but I own a few cattle.”
Some one laughed and Jack turned his head quickly, but every one was straight faced.
“Oh, ——, you fellers make me tired!” roared old Sam Hodges, hammering his cane on the floor. His white beard twitched angrily. “Why don’tcha let the kid alone. What if he did marry the daughter of a sheepherder? By ——, that ain’t so terribly awful, is it?”
He glared around as if daring any one to challenge his argument.
“Are any of you fellers pure? Ha, ha, ha, ha! By ——, I could tell a few things about most of yuh, if I wanted to. I’ve seen Jack’s wife, and I’ll rise right up and proclaim that they raise some —— sweet lookin’ females in the sheep country. Set down, Jack. Yo’re a cowman, son, and this here is a cowman’s meetin’. We need trigger fingers, too, by ——! And if m’ memory don’t fail me, you’ve got a good one.”
“But—” began the sheriff.
“But ——!” snorted the old man.
“Don’t ‘but’ me! You —— holier-than-thou! Smithy, some day you’ll make me mad and I’ll tell yuh right out what I know about yuh. Oh, I know all of yuh. I’m a ——ed old cripple, and the law protects me from violence, so hop to it. Start hornin’ into me, will yuh? I’ve lived here since Lo Lo Valley was a high peak, and I’m competent to write a biography of every ——ed one of yuh. And some of it would have to be written on asbestos paper. Set down, Jack Hartwell; yo’re interruptin’ the meetin’.”
Jack sat down near the door, hunched on his heels. Old Sam Hodges had come to his rescue at a critical time, and he inwardly blessed the old cripple. Hodges had been a cripple as long as Jack could remember, and his tongue was vitriolic. He was educated, refined, when he cared to be, which was not often. But in spite of the fact that he cursed every one, the men of Lo Lo Valley listened to his advice.