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 I'll pick you up with it on you and hold you out till you wiggle yourself to death, you dam' leather-bellied horny rattler!"

Texas unbelted his gun and handed it to Duncan. Then he stepped forward before anybody guessed his next move, and slapped Sawyer in the leering, red, hairy face.

Hartwell's hand was big and hard, and there was vigor in the blow, for he gave it for the honor of Texas and her men, and the traditions of their noble sacrifices and splendid courage. It made the cow-man's teeth pop, and sent him winding up against the wall of his comrades.

Sawyer came at Hartwell with his head down, like a bull, his arms reaching to grapple. There was no science on either side of that combat, but there was a great deal of main strength and awkwardness, and a grunting and snorting from Sawyer like a grizzly bear. Hartwell avoided his first rush and struck him in the face, drawing blood.

Texas was unloading from his mind and conscience all the hard things which had grown up in him during those days of suspicion and accusation. He was fighting not only Sawyer, but the Cattle Raisers' Association, and every blow that he struck was for his honor and the lightening of his heart. It was better to die fighting than to live disgraced.