the gun-fighter of anything, for talk is easily traced to its source
and the account of Shorty had filled the foreman with immense respect
for the fighting qualities of Red Perris. However, he was equally
determined to rouse a hostile sentiment towards him among the
cowhands.

"Well," said Lew, "you can't blame a gent for playing for high stakes
if he's going to gamble at all. I guess Red Perris is all right. A kid
like him can't help being a little proud of himself."

"Damn fat-head," growled Slim, less merciful, "sat right next to me
and didn't say two words all through breakfast. Ain't going to waste
no words on common cowpunchers, maybe."

So the first impression of Red Jim was created on the ranch, an
impression which might be dispelled by the first real test of the man,
or which in the absence of such a test might cling to him forever:
Perris was a conceited gun-fighter, heart-breaker, and bully. The men
who trooped into the bunkhouse behind him already hated him with a
religious intensity; in ten minutes, they might have accepted him as a
bunkie! For your true Western cowpuncher, when all is said and done,
unites with Spartan stoicism a Spartan keenness of suspicion.

It was not hard for the foreman to see the trend of events. Something
had roused an ugly mood in Perris. It might be, as he surmised, the
girl. No matter what, he was obviously not in a mood to bear tampering
with. Hervey determined to force the issue at once, knowing that his
other men would be a solid unit behind him.

"Hey there, Red!" he called, cheerily enough, but brusquely, and then,