Once inside the tent he lighted a lantern, and Jack heard a cot-spring creak a protest as King settled his great bulk upon it. Then Jack stepped over, threw back the flap of the tent and stepped into the presence of the sheep king.
For several moments the big man stared at him. He had not seen Jack for several years, and it took him quite a while to recall the features of his enemy’s son. Jack did not speak, but waited to see what King would have to say.
The big man knitted his brows, glanced toward the flap of the tent and back at the cowboy, facing him tensely.
“How did you get here?” he asked harshly.
“Walked right in,” said Jack evenly.
“Did yuh?” King studied him closely. “What for?”
“To take my wife back home.”
Eph King started slightly.
“To take her back home, eh? Back from where, Hartwell?”
“From here!” Jack’s jaw muscles tightened and he leaned forward slightly. “By —— she’s my wife and I want her! Now you produce her, King.”