"Off of it! You ain't sick, or nothin'?"
"No. Can't a man----?"
"Oh, sure, he could, but he wouldn't, onless--you got your camp near
here?"
Tex was aware the other was eyeing him closely.
"Tolerable."
"Let's go camp then. I left my pack horse hobbled way up on Last
Water."
The Texan was thinking rapidly. Curt was a friend of long standing and
desired to share his camp, which is the way of the cow country. Yet,
manifestly this was impossible. There was only one way out and that
was to give offence.
"No. I'm campin' alone these days."
A slow red mounted to the other's face and his voice sounded a trifle
hard: "Come on up to mine, then. It ain't so far."
"I said I was campin' alone."
The red was very apparent now, and the other took a step forward, and
his words came slowly:
"Peck Maguire told me, an' I shut his dirty mouth for him. But now I
know it's true. You're ridin' with the pilgrim's girl."
At the inference the Texan whitened to the eyes. "_You're a damned
liar_!" The words came evenly but with a peculiar venom.
Curt half drew his gun. Then jammed it back in the holster. "Not
between friends," he said shortly, "but jest the same you're goin' to
eat them words. It ain't a trick I'd think of you--to run off with a
man's woman after killin' him.
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