"
Brown, his freckled face hotly flushed, his eyes grown hard, struck the
rock with clinched hand.
"D-d-damn you, B-Bill," he stuttered desperately, his great chest
heaving. "I-I 've had jist 'nough o' th-th-thet sorter talk. Yer
s-s-spit out 'nuther word 'bout her, an' th-th-thar 'll be somethin'
e-else a-doin'."
Old Hicks laughed, his gray goat-beard waggling, yet it was clearly
evident he appreciated the temper of his partner, and realized the
limit of patience.
"Oh, I 'll pass," he confessed genially. "Lord! I hed a touch o' that
same disease oncet myself. But thar ain't no sense in yer fightin' me,
Stutter; I bet yer git practice 'nough arter awhile, 'less them thar
black eyes o' hern be mighty deceivin'. But that thar may keep. Jist
now we 've got a few other p'ints ter consider. You was askin' about
our defence, Mr. Winston, when this yere love-sick kid butted in?"
"Yes."
"Well, it 's ther lay o' ther ground, an' four good rifles. Thet 's
ther whole o' it; them fellers over yonder can't get in, an' I 'm
damned if we kin git out.
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