“What you got there—in yore hand?” demanded Houck.
The revolver came to light.
Houck stuck his hands in his trouser pockets, straddled out his feet, and laughed derisively. “Allowin’ for to kill me, eh?”
“No, sir.” The voice was a dry whisper. “I’d like to talk this over reasonable, Mr. Houck, an’ fix it up so’s bygones would be bygones. I ain’t lookin’ for trouble.”
“I sure believe that.” Houck turned to June. “It wouldn’t be safe for me to leave you with this desperate character who goes around with a six-shooter not lookin’ for trouble. I’m aimin’ to take you with me, like I said.”
Her eyes clashed with his and gave way at last. “You always act like you’re God Almighty,” she cried passionately. “Are you hard o’ hearing? I’m married to Bob Dillon here.”
“I ain’t heard him raise any objections to yore goin’,” Houck taunted. “Tolliver said for me to bring you, an’ I’ll do it.”
June spoke to Bob, her voice trembling. “Tell him where to get off at,” she begged.
“Mr. Houck, June’s my wife. She’s made her choice. That ends it,” Bob said unsteadily.
The cold, cruel eyes of the ex-rustler gripped those of Dillon and held them. “End it, does it? Listen. If you’re any kind of a man a-tall you’d better shoot me right now. I’m gonna take her from you, an’ you’re goin’ to tell her to go with me. Understand?”