The cowboys, who had come up, moved restlessly. Lem Billings dropped his head, muttering. Montana Jim froze in his tracks.
Moore's dark eyes, scornful and piercing, never moved from Jack's face. It seemed as if the cowboy would never speak again.
"You call me thief! You?" at length he exclaimed.
"Yes, I do," replied Belllounds, loudly.
"Before this sheriff and your father you accuse me of stealing cattle?"
"Yes."
"And you accuse me before this man who saved my life, who knows me--before Hell-Bent Wade?" demanded Moore, as he pointed to the hunter.
Mention of Wade in that significant tone of passion and wonder was not without effect upon Jack Belllounds.
"What in hell do I care for Wade?" he burst out, with the old intolerance. "Yes, I accuse you. Thief, rustler!... And for all I know your precious Hell-Bent Wade may be--"
He was interrupted by Burley's quick and authoritative interference.