"What do I care for you or your gabby talk?" he flashed, sullenly.
"You'll care when I tell these rustlers how you double-crossed them."
Belllounds made a spring, like that of a wolf in a trap; but when half-way up he slipped. The rustler on his right kicked him, and he sprawled down again, back to the wall.
"Buster, look into this!" called Wade, and he leveled the gun that quivered momentarily, like a compass needle, and then crashed fire and smoke. The bullet spat into a log. But it had cut the lobe of Belllounds's ear, bringing blood. His face turned a ghastly, livid hue. All in a second terror possessed him--shuddering, primitive terror of death.
Folsom haw-hawed derisively and in crude delight. "Say, Buster Jack, don't get any idee thet my ole pard Wade was shootin' at your head. Aw, no!"
The other rustlers understood then, if Belllounds had not, that the situation was in control of a man not in any sense ordinary.
"Cap, did you know Buster Jack accused my friend, Wils Moore, of stealin' these cattle you're sellin'?" asked Wade, deliberately.
"What cattle did you say?" asked the rustler, as if he had not heard aright.
"The cattle Buster Jack stole from his father an' sold to you."
"Wal, now! Bent Wade at his old tricks! I might have knowed it, once I seen you.... Naw, I'd no idee Belllounds blamed thet stealin' on to any one."