Joel's silence answered that.

"You said something about me?" Lucy could not resist her curiosity, back of
which was a little heat. "It must have been--bad--else Van wouldn't have
struck you."

"He hit me--he knocked me flat," passionately said Joel.

"And you drew a gun on him?"

"I did, an' like a fool I didn't wait till I got up. Then he kicked me! . . .
Bostil's Ford will never be big enough fer me an' Van now."

"Don't talk foolish. You won't fight with Van. . . . Joel, maybe you deserved
what you got. You say some--some rude things."

"I only said I'd pay you back," burst out Joel.

"How?"

"I swore I'd lay fer you--an' steal your clothes--so you'd have to run home
naked."

There was indeed something lacking in Joel, but it was not sincerity. His hurt
had rankled deep and his voice trembled with indignation.

"But, Joel, I don't go swimming in spring-holes," protested Lucy, divided
between amusement and annoyance.

"I meant it, anyhow," said Joel, doggedly.