“You bet you are!” added Bo, with a passion that made her listeners quiver. “You've put me at the mercy of a gang of outlaws! You may force my sister out of her home! But your day will come.' Tom Carmichael will KILL you.”
Beasley mounted his horse. Sullen, livid, furious, he sat shaking in the saddle, to glare down at the outlaw leader.
“Snake, thet's no fault of mine the deal's miscarried. I was square. I made my offer for the workin' out of my plan. It 'ain't been done. Now there's hell to pay an' I'm through.”
“Beasley, I reckon I couldn't hold you to anythin',” replied Anson, slowly. “But if you was square you ain't square now. We've hung around an' tried hard. My men are all sore. An' we're broke, with no outfit to speak of. Me an' you never fell out before. But I reckon we might.”
“Do I owe you any money—accordin' to the deal?” demanded Beasley.
“No, you don't,” responded Anson, sharply.
“Then thet's square. I wash my hands of the whole deal. Make Riggs pay up. He's got money an' he's got plans. Go in with him.”
With that Beasley spurred his horse, wheeled and rode away. The outlaws gazed after him until he disappeared in the cedars.
“What'd you expect from a greaser?” queried Shady Jones.
“Anson, didn't I say so?” added Burt.