The black eyes of the outlaw blazed in their deep sockets. "By God, young fellow, it's you or me next time we meet. I'll learn you that no scrub Ranger can cross Pete Dinsmore an' get away with it. This ain't the first time you've run on the rope with me. I've had more 'n plenty of you."
The riders were moving away, but Jack Roberts turned in the saddle, one hand on the rump of the bronco.
"It won't be the last time either, Dinsmore. You look like any other cheap cow-thief to me. The Rangers are going to bring law to this country. Tell yore friends they'll live longer if they turn honest men."
The Ranger put spurs to his horse and galloped after his posse.
[Footnote 4: In the early days in Texas a revolver was sometimes called a "cutter."]