"Why the devil did you tell me the name if you didn't want me to use it?"
he asked.

"I thought you'd have some savvy; I thought you'd have some of your dad's
horse sense," said Denver.

"No offense," answered Terry, with the utmost good nature.

"Call me Shorty if you want," said Denver. In the meantime he was
regarding Terry more and more closely.

"Your old man would of made a fight out of it if I'd said as much to him
as I've done to you," he remarked at length.

"Really?" murmured Terry.

And the portrait of his father swept back on him--the lean, imperious,
handsome face, the boldness of the eyes. Surely a man all fire and
powder, ready to explode. He probed his own nature. He had never been
particularly quick of temper--until lately. But he began to wonder if his
equable disposition might not rise from the fact that his life in Bear
Valley had been so sheltered. He had been crossed rarely. In the outer
world it was different. That very morning he had been tempted wickedly to
take the tall rancher by the throat and grind his face into the sand.

"But maybe you're different," went on Denver. "Your old man used to flare
up and be over it in a minute. Maybe you remember things and pack a
grudge with you."