Morton looked as if he were about to brain me with the butt of his whip.
His anger flashed by then as unworthy of him, and, something striking
him as funny, he boomed out a laugh.

"It's not so funny," I went on. "If you're going to pretend a yellow
streak, what else will I think?"

"Pretend?" he repeated.

"Sure. You can't fool me, Morton. I know men of nerve. And here in Pecos
they're not any different from those in other places. I say if you show
anything like a lack of sand it's all bluff.

"By nature you've got nerve. There are a lot of men round Linrock who're
afraid of their shadows, afraid to be out after dark, afraid to open
their mouths. But you're not one.

"So, I say, if you claim these rustlers will last, you're pretending
lack of nerve just to help the popular idea along. For they can't last.

"Morton, I don't want to be a hard-riding cowboy all my days. Do you
think I'd let fear of a gang of rustlers stop me from going in business
with a rancher? Nit! What you need out here in Pecos is some new
blood--a few youngsters like me to get you old guys started. Savvy what
I mean?"

"Wal, I reckon I do," he replied, looking as if a storm had blown over
him.