“Dad, why do you dislike Frank Campion?”
“Dislike him? I never said I did.”
“But you do dislike him?”
“No, I don’t dislike him, Jess. That word’s too soft. I hate him to beat
----!”
“Why?” softly.
“Why!”
Cross L got to his feet and tried to glare at Jess.
“Yes, why, dad?”
“’Cause I don’t like him and ’cause he’s a ---- liar and--and
everythin’.”
“Why do you call him a liar? Did he lie to you?”
Cross L began to have throat trouble again. He felt that Jess knew he
had read that note. He walked to the corner of the porch and proceeded
to cough rackingly. When he turned, his eyes were filled with tears
from his efforts and his voice was husky.
“Gotta do somethin’ for my cold,” he told her. “Be in m’ grave, if I
don’t. Must ’a’ set in a draft. Cough m’ fool head off once in a while.”
“Especially when you don’t want to answer a question, dad.”
“What question?” Cross L fairly bristled, but started for the steps.
“What’s questions got to do with runnin’ a cattle-ranch, I’d admire t’
know. Think I’m goin’ t’ stand around and let m’ business go to rack
and ruin, just ’cause a fool woman wants t’ ask questions? Huh!”
He humped his head between his shoulders and headed for the corral,
where Jim and Bert were leaning on the fence, still laughing over what
they had done to Erne.
“Didja see what happened to that Erne feller?” asked Jim, still
chuckling.
“What did yuh do to him?” asked Cross L.
“Tied a tin-can to his bronc’s tail. Man, man, but didn’t that animal
respond to treatment. Ha, ha, ha, ha!”
Cross L glared at them and masticated violently.
“That’s a ---- of a thing to do! Do I have t’ muzzle you pelicans to
make visitin’ safe at this ranch? That was a danged mean thing t’ do,
and I don’t want t’ see yuh do it ag’in; _sabe_?”
“All right,” said Jim seriously, “yuh won’t. And yuh won’t have to
muzzle us either, old timer. There’s other ranches where they hire
cow-hands.”
“M’yah!” grunted Cross L explosively, and then to Peace--
“Tell me about that scrap yuh had with Campion.”