“Don’t you think, perhaps, you had better see a lawyer? There’s always a legal way to straighten out difficulties that—”
“Lawyer!” exploded Black with an oath. “Listen, fellow! I don’t aim for to see no lawyer. You’d like fine to tie this up in the courts while you went right on building yore end gates an’ runnin’ yore ditches on my land. No, sir. Cattle was here first, an’ we don’t aim to let you chase us off. See?”
“I expect the law will have to decide that, Mr. Black. But that’s merely an opinion of mine. I’m here to run a ditch through this cañon—an employee hired at so much a week. Unless I get orders to stop work, the ditch will be dug.” Jones spoke evenly, without raising his voice, but there was a ring of finality in his tone.
“You crow damn loud,” Black retorted angrily. “Think I don’ know who you are—a good-for-nothin’ tramp liable to go to the pen for burnin’ up wheat an’ bush-whackin’ Clint Reed? You’re all swelled up, ain’t you? Forget it, fellow. I’m givin’ you orders to clear out. If you don’t, some of you’re liable to be sorry. This here is a man’s country.”
Tug looked straight at the rawboned, dark man. “Meaning?” he asked pointedly.
Prowers answered. He knew that enough had been said. More would be surplusage and might carry the danger of a come-back in case men should be killed.
“You’d be sorry to beat a pore man outa his claim, wouldn’t you?” he said, tee-heeing with virulent laughter. “Come on, Don. Might as well be pushin’ on our reins.”
Over his shoulder the homesteader flung a last word that might be taken as a threat, a warning, or a prophecy. “Till to-night, Mr. Hobo.”
CHAPTER XVI
THE STAMPEDE
Jones sent a messenger to his chief with word of Don Black’s threat, and Merrick at once rode to Elk Creek to consult with the man he had put in charge.