He flung aside the officer’s hand, and with blazing eyes faced Tom Clifton.
“You did this!” he shouted. “And you had no right to——” Words alone could not satisfy him; he sprang toward the Rambler with clenched fists and shoulders squared.
Tom, aghast, stepped hastily back. The circle of surprised humanity which instantly formed, hedging the two closely about, saw a curious spectacle. The lads, both of extreme height, were in violent action. Jimmy’s move had been so quickly made, so unlooked for, that before any one could lay a restraining hand upon him the struggle had begun.
On Tom Clifton’s part it was merely an effort to keep away. Not a spark of anger shone in his eyes. Quick, agile, he easily evaded Jimmy’s rushes and presently the Texas Rangers dragged the excited young pianist aside.
A surging, noisy crowd now hemmed them all in. Their curiosity was insatiable, not only in regard to the event which had just taken place, but to the other and greater battle fought on the opposite side of the Rio.
“For goodness’ sake, let’s get away from here fast!” exclaimed Dick. He turned to the Rangers and speaking in a low tone, told them that they were bound for the company headquarters of the force.
“We’ve seen you over there,” said one, with a huge grin. “An’ Carl Alvin’s never done talkin’ about ye. I’m sorry, son.” He slapped Jimmy on the shoulder. “We’re only followin’ out our orders, you know.”
The pianist had already begun to regret his outburst. Like a flash he recalled the pleasant time he had spent with the others; how they had helped to cheer him, and make his self-imposed exile easier to bear. And there was Tom, regarding him in the most friendly manner. Yet only a moment before he had flung himself upon him with all his force.
In those seconds while the staring, gaping crowd waited, hoping for new developments, he began to get a truer insight into his own character. Dimly it dawned into his mind that his way was not the right way.
“Tom,” he said, simply, “here’s my hand!”