Lambert nodded.
"I know when I'm through."
George didn't release him at once. His soul expanded with a sense of power and authority earned by his own effort. It seemed an omen. It urged him too far.
"Then," he mused, "I guess I'd better let you run home and tell your father what I've done to you."
"That," Lambert said, "proves I was right, and I'm sorry I fought you."
George tried to think. He felt hot and angry. Was the other, after all, the better man?
"I take it back," he muttered. "Ought to have had enough sense to know that a fellow that fights like you's no tattle-tale."
"Thanks, Morton."
George's sense of power grew. He couldn't commence too soon to use it.
"See here, Mr. Planter, I came up here to help with some horses your people didn't know how to handle, and let myself get shifted to this other job; but I'm not your father's slave, and anyway I'm getting out."