"That's the word, Dug. I reckon you've heard how the Governor of Colorado pardoned him. This town's crazy about Sanders. Claims he was framed for the penitentiary. Right now he could be elected to any office he went after." Steelman's restless black eyes watched furtively the effect of his taunting on this man, a victim of wild and uncurbed passions. He was egging him on to a rage that would throw away all caution and all scruples.
"He'll never live to run for office!" the cattleman cried hoarsely.
"They talk him for sheriff. Say Applegate's no good—too easy-going. Say
Sanders'll round up you an' Shorty pronto when he's given authority."
Doble ripped out a wild and explosive oath. He knew this man was playing on his vanity, jealousy, and hatred for some purpose not yet apparent, but he found it impossible to close his mind to the whisperings of the plotter. He welcomed the spur of Steelman's two-edged tongue because he wanted to have his purpose of vengeance fed.
"Sanders never saw the day he could take me, dead or alive. I'll meet him any time, any way, an' when I turn my back on him he'll be ready for the coroner."
"I believe you, Dug. No need to tell me you're not afraid of him, for—"
"Afraid of him!" bellowed Doble, eyes like live coals. "Say that again an' I'll twist yore head off."
Steelman did not say it again. He pushed the bottle toward his guest and said other things.