"Plumb gentle. You can make any horse a devil when you're one yourself."
They were standing in front of the stable. Threewit started to reply, but the words were taken out of his mouth. From out of the stable strode Harrison, a cold anger in his eyes.
"That's your opinion, is it?"
Yeager's light blue eyes met his steadily. "You've heard it."
"I've heard other things, too. You're taking boxing lessons. You're going to need them, my friend."
"The sooner the quicker," answered Steve evenly.
"You'll cut that out, both of you," ordered Threewit curtly. "I'll fire you both if you don't behave."
"I'm no school-kid, Threewit. I play my own hand. Sabe?" Harrison turned his cold eyes on the range-rider. "And I serve notice right here that next time my young rube friend and me mixes you'd better bring a basket to gather up the pieces."
Yeager brushed a fly languidly from his gauntlet. "That's twice he's used the word 'friend.' I reckon he don't know I'm some particular who calls me that."
"That'll be enough, Yeager. Don't start anything here. We're a moving-picture outfit, not a bunch of pugs." Briskly the director changed the subject. "I want you to choose a couple of the boys and go down to Yarnell's after a herd of cattle we're going to need in that Tapidero Jim picture. If you need more help the old man will let you have one or two of his riders."