"I know it," responded young Dawson heartily. "I'm not forgettin' it. And maybe I can return the favor some bright and sunny day. Now if I can have my gun, I'll just have a word or two with the man you call Tuckleton."
"No words," said Sam Prescott firmly. "Not a word. This thing has gone far enough. There'll be no shooting round here. Rafe and his outfit are goin' home now, and you're riding with me back to Tom's ranch. And to-morrow morning I'll see you off to Jacksboro. Rafe, I don't want to hurry you——"
Rafe Tuckleton and his outfit took the hint.
"And you mean to tell me they can get away with a deal like that?" demanded John Dawson.
Sam Prescott smiled wearily. "What could they be arrested for—always supposing you could get the sheriff to arrest 'em, which he wouldn't."
"Well——"
"There y'are. Of course you could call it attempted assault. What's that? Under the statute, a week in jail. And who'd convict 'em?"
Tom Walton laughed bitterly. "You don't know this county, Mr. Dawson. Anything can happen here."
"Seemingly it can," said Mr. Dawson in frank disgust.
"You see," said Rafe, "I'd figured we'd have to find somebody to lynch for rustlin' so that infernal Tom Walton wouldn't be suspectin' us alla time. Shindle ran across this Dawson party in Hillsville and guessed he'd fill the bill, he being a stranger and all."