"Am I a snooping coyote?" he
demanded watching Dirk.
"You air. More 'n all that, you're a damned spy! And I kin
lick yuh an' lass' yuh an' lead yuh to Bart like a sheep!"
They dismounted, left their horses to stand with reins
dropped, threw off their coats and fought until they were too
tired to land another blow. There were no fatalities. Bud did
not come out of the fray unscathed and proudly conscious of
his strength and his skill and the unquestionable
righteousness of his cause. Instead he had three bruised
knuckles and a rapidly swelling ear, and when his anger had
cooled a little he felt rather foolish and wondered what had
started them off that way. They had ridden away from the
ranch in a very good humor, and he had harbored no conscious
dislike of Dirk Tracy, who had been one individual of a type
of rangemen which he had known all his life and had accepted
as a matter of course.
Dirk, on his part, had some trouble in stopping the bleeding
of his nose, and by the time he reached the ranch his left
eye was closed completely. He was taller and heavier than
Bud, and he had not expected such a slugging strength behind
Bud's blows.
He was badly shaken, and when Bud recovered the two guns and
the knife and returned his weapons to him, Dirk was half
tempted to shoot.
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