"Well, are satisfied? Will you vent your brand?"
The big man's face was distorted with passion. "Vent nothin'," he
roared. "On the word of a damned sneakin' tenderfoot! I--"
He stopped, as Patches, before Phil could check the movement, pushed
close to his side.
In the sudden stillness the new man's cool, deliberate voice sounded
clearly. "I am positive that you made a mistake when you put your iron
on that calf, Mr. Cambert. And," he added slowly, as though with the
kindest possible intention, "I am sure that you can safely take my word
for it without further question."
For a moment Nick glared at Patches, speechless. Then, to the amazement
of every cowboy in the corral, the big man mumbled a surly something,
and took down his riata to rope the calf and disclaim his ownership of
the animal.
Jim Reid shook his head in puzzled doubt.
The cowboys were clearly divided.
"He's too good a hand for a tenderfoot," argued one; "carried that off
like an old-timer."
"'Tain't like Nick to lay down so easy for anybody," added another.
"Nick's on to something about Mr. Patches that we ain't next to,"
insisted a third.
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