"Sure I did. He tried to take my gun from me," the boy explained hotly.
"Take him out to the bunk house, boys. I'll attend to him later," nodded Buck, turning away indifferently.
Stung to fury by the cavalier manner of his enemy, the boy leaped at him like a wild cat. Weaver whirled round again, caught him by the shoulder with his great hand, and shook him as if he had been a puppy. When he dropped him, he nodded again to his men, who dragged out the struggling boy.
Phyllis stood straight as an arrow, but white to the lips. "What are you going to do to him?" she asked.
"How would a good chapping do, to start with? That is always good for an unlicked cub."
"Don't!" she implored.
"But, my dear, why not—since it's for his good?"
Passion unleashed leaped from her. "You coward!"
He shrugged his shoulders. "I'm right desolated to have your bad opinion. But you say it almost as if you did hate me. That's a compliment, you know. You didn't hate the coyote, you mentioned."
Her eyes flamed. "Hate you! If wishes could kill, you would be a thousand times dead!"