"You're going out to kill those men," she charged, white to the lips.
"They'll git a trial if they surrender peaceable."
"What kind of a trial?" she asked scornfully. "They know better than to surrender. They'll fight."
"That'll suit me too."
"Don't, dad. Don't do it," the girl begged. "They're game men. They fought fair. I've made inquiries. You mustn't kill them like wolves."
"Mustn't I?" he said stubbornly. "I reckon that's just what I'm goin' to do. I'll learn Homer Webb to send his bad men to Los Portales lookin' for trouble. He can't kill my riders an' get away with it."
"You know he didn't do that. This boy—Clanton, if that's his name—had a feud with the Roush family. One of them betrayed his sister. Far as I can find out these Roush brothers were the scum of the earth," Her bosom rose and fell fast with excitement.
"Howcome you to know so much about it, girl? Not that it makes any difference. They may have been hellhounds, but they were my riders. These gunmen went into my own place an' shot 'em down. They picked the fight. There's no manner o' doubt about that."
"They didn't do it on your account. I tell you there was an old feud."
"Webb thinks he's got the world by the tail for a downhill pull. I'll show him."