spurs!"

Gregg glanced down to the flank of the bay to discover that he had
used the spurs more recklessly than he thought. A sharp rowel had
picked through the skin, and, though it was probably only a slight
wound indeed, it had brought a smear of red to the surface.

Ronicky Doone trembled with anger.

"Confound you!" he said furiously. "Any fool would have known that you
didn't need a spur on that hoss! What part d'you come from where they
teach you to kill a hoss when you ride it? Can you tell me that?"

"I'll tell you after I get to Stillwater."

"I'll see you hung before I see you in Stillwater."

"You've talked too much, Doone," Gregg said huskily.

"I've just begun," said Doone.

"Then take this and shut up," exclaimed Bill Gregg.

Ordinarily he was the straightest and the squarest man in the world in
a fight. But a sudden anger had flared up in him. He had an impulse to
kill; to get rid of this obstacle between him and everything he wanted
most in life. Without more warning than that he snatched out his
revolver and fired point blank at Ronicky Doone. Certainly all the
approaches to a fight had been made, and Doone might have been
expecting the attack. At any rate, as the gun shot out of Gregg's