The boss of the Arrow nodded, and three men assisted the wounded man from the room. Jack turned to Gene Hill,
“Have they got any men on the dead-line now, Gene?” he asked softly.
Hill was a long-nosed, watery-eyed sort of person, generally very affable, but now he seemed to draw into his shell.
“Better ask Marsh Hartwell,” he said slowly. “I ain’t in no position to pass out information.”
There was no mistaking the inference in Hill’s reply. Jack turned and walked to the door, where he faced the crowd, his hand on the door-knob.
“I came here tonight to throw in with yuh,” he said hoarsely. “I’m as much of a cattleman as any of yuh here tonight, and —— knows I hate sheep as bad as any of yuh. I had a gun to help yuh fight against the sheep men.
“But I know how yuh feel toward me. My own father thinks I’ve done him an injury. You think I’m a spy. Well, —— yuh, go ahead and think all yuh want to! From now on I don’t have to show allegiance to either side. I’m neither a cattleman nor a sheepman. I’ll mind my own business, sabe? You’ve drawn a dead-line against the sheep; I’ll draw one against both of yuh. You know where my ranch-lines run? All right, keep off. Now, yuh can all go to ——!”
He yanked the door open and slammed it behind him. For several moments the crowd was silent. Then old Sam Hodges laughed joyfully and hammered on the floor with his cane.
“Good for the kid!” he exploded. “By ——, I’m for him! He told yuh all to go to ——, didn’t he? Told me to go with yuh. But I wouldn’t do it, nossir. Catch me with this gang? Huh! Draw a dead-line, will he? Ha, ha, ha, ha! Betcha forty dollars he’ll hold it, too. Hartwell, you are an ass!”
Marsh Hartwell flushed hotly, but did not reply. He knew better than to cross old Hodges, who chuckled joyfully over his evil-smelling pipe.