Bob shook his head. “Get outa this country, like Hollister said. Find a hole somewheres an’ pull it in after me.”
“No, sir. Not none. You’re gonna stay right here—in the country round Bear Cat—where every last man, woman, an’ k-kid will know how you ate d-dirt when Houck told you to.”
“I couldn’t do that,” the boy pleaded. “Why, I wouldn’t have a chance. I’d know what they were sayin’ all the time.”
“Sure you’d know it. Tha’s the price you g-gotta pay for g-grovelin’. Don’t you see yore only chance is to go out an’ make good before the folks who know how you’ve acted? Sneak off an’ keep still about what you did, amongst s-strangers, an’ where do you get off? You know all yore life you’re only a worm. The best you can be is a bluff. You’d be d-duckin’ outa makin’ the fight you’ve gotta make. That don’t get you anywhere a-tall. No, sir. Go out an’ reverse the verdict of the court. Make good, right amongst the people who’re keepin’ tabs on yore record. You can do it, if you c-clamp yore j-jaw an’ remember that yore red haid is c-covered with g-glory an’ you been given dominion.”
“But—”
“S-snap it up!” squeaked Blister.
The red head came up again with a jerk.
“Keep it up.”
“What’ll I do? Where’ll I find work?”
“Out on the range. At the K Bar T, or the Keystone, or the Slash Lazy D. It don’t m-matter where.”