"Say, you ain't takin' that pore thing up to the fort, are you?" he jeered.
Buck swung about with the swiftness of a panther. His eyes were ablaze with a cold fire.
"You rotten outlaw parson!" he cried.
He waited for the insult to drive home. Then when he saw the fury in the other's face, a fury he intended to stir, he went on-"Another insinuation like that an' I'll shoot you like the dog you are," he cried, and without waiting for an answer he turned to the others. "Say, fellers," he went on, "I'm takin' this gal wher' she belongs--down to the farm. I'm goin' to hand her over to the old woman there. An' if I hear another filthy suggestion from this durned skunk Beasley, what I said goes. It's not a threat. It's a promise, sure, an' I don't ever forgit my promises."
Beasley's face was livid, and he drew a sharp breath.
"I don't know 'bout promises," he said fiercely. "But you won't find me fergittin' much either."
Buck turned to the door again and threw his retort over his shoulder.
"Then you sure won't forgit I've told you what you are."
"I sure won't."
Nor did Buck fail to appreciate the venom the other flung into his words. But he was reckless--always reckless. And he hurried through the doorway and strode off with his still unconscious burden.