Stott turned sharply.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Just what I said. Look at that horse!"
The buckskin's head was hanging, its legs were trembling, there was not a dry hair on it and the sweat was running in rivulets. Its sides were swollen at the stirrup where the spurs had pricked it, and the corners of its mouth were raw and bleeding.
Wallie continued and his voice now was savage: "You're one of the people, and there's plenty like you, that ought to be prevented by law from owning either a horse or a gun. This afternoon you'll ride in the surrey or walk, as suits you."
Stott laughed insolently.
"Oh, I guess not!"
Wallie calmly loosened the latigo.
Stott took a step toward him with his heavy jaw thrust out and his hand sought his hip pocket.
"Don't you take the saddle off that horse!" His tone was menacing.
A machine that had been purring in the distance passed, slowed up, and stopped a little way beyond the camp. Wallie heard it but did not look to see whom it might be bringing, as in answer to Stott's threat he dropped the cinch and laid his hand upon the horn.
"If you think I'm bluffing----"
For answer, Wallie pulled off the saddle.
Stott hesitated for the fraction of a second, then his arm shot out and Wallie dropped heavily from the blow beneath the ear which Stott dealt him.
There was a sharp cry behind him, but Wallie did not look around as, still dazed, he got to his feet slowly, with his eyes upon his antagonist.
"I warned you!" Stott chortled, and he put his hand behind him to conceal the brass knuckles he was wearing.
Helene Spenceley was there; her voice had told him; but he took no account of that in the choking, blinding rage which now controlled him.
Before Stott could use his cowardly weapon again Wallie sprang for him, and with the force and rapidity of a trained fighter landed blow after blow on the heavy jaw which made a fine target.
"You----horse-killer! You----braggart and cheapskate! You----shyster and ambulance chaser!" And with every epithet Wallie landed a punch that made the lawyer stagger.
It was not "nice" language; it was not a "nice" thing to do, possibly, and perhaps the "soft answer" would have been better, but the time had passed when Wallie set any store by being merely "nice," and he had forgotten Helene Spenceley's presence, though in any event it would have made no difference.
There was only one thought in his mind as he sat astride Stott's chest when Stott went down finally, and that was to make him say "Enough!" if he had to hammer him past recognition.