"The hell I won't," he retorted, with a dark glance of passion. I was
surprised that my remark had angered him. "You fellows are all wrong. I
know _when_ to throw a gun. You ought to remember that Rangers have a
bad name for wanting to shoot. And I'm afraid it's deserved."

"Did you shoot at Snecker?" I queried.

"I could have got him in the back. But that wouldn't do. I shot three
times at his legs--tried to let him down. I'd have made him tell
everything he knew, but he ran. He was too fast for me."

"Shooting at his legs! No wonder he ran. He savvied your game all right.
It's funny, Vaughn, how these rustlers and gunmen don't mind being
killed. But to cripple them, rope them, jail them--that's hell to them!
Well, I'm to go on, up at the ranch, falling further in love with that
sweet kid instead of coming out straight to face things with you?"

Steele had to laugh, yet he was more thoughtful of my insistence.

"Russ, you think you have patience, but you don't know what patience is.
I won't be hurried on this job. But I'll tell you what: I'll hang under
cover most of the time when you're not close to me. See? That can be
managed. I'll watch for you when you come in town. We'll go in the same
places. And in case I get busy you can stand by and trail along after
me. That satisfy you?"

"Fine!" I said, both delighted and relieved. "Well, I'll have to rustle
back now to tell Miss Sampson you're all right."