“So we've jest been told.”
Astonishment still held Beasley.
“Told?” he echoed. Suddenly his big body leaped with a start. “Who got her? Who fetched her?”
“Why, Mister Gunman Riggs hyar,” replied Anson, with a subtle scorn.
“Riggs, you got the wrong girl,” shouted Beasley. “You made thet mistake once before. What're you up to?”
“I chased her an' when I got her, seein' it wasn't Nell Rayner—why—I kept her, anyhow,” replied Riggs. “An' I've got a word for your ear alone.”
“Man, you're crazy—queerin' my deal thet way!” roared Beasley. “You heard my plans.... Riggs, this girl-stealin' can't be done twice. Was you drinkin' or locoed or what?”
“Beasley, he was giving you the double-cross,” cut in Bo Rayner's cool voice.
The rancher stared speechlessly at her, then at Anson, then at Wilson, and last at Riggs, when his brown visage shaded dark with rush of purple blood. With one lunge he knocked Riggs flat, then stood over him with a convulsive hand at his gun.
“You white-livered card-sharp! I've a notion to bore you.... They told me you had a deal of your own, an' now I believe it.”