But while Patches saw it all so clearly, he was enraged that this man
with whom he had lived so intimately should believe him capable of such
a crime, and treat him without question as a common cattle thief. Phil's
coldness toward him, which had grown so gradually during the past three
months, in this peremptory humiliation reached a point beyond which
Patches' patient and considerate endurance could not go. The man's sense
of justice was outraged; his fine feeling of honor was insulted. Trapped
and helpless as he was under that menacing gun, he was possessed by a
determination to defend himself against the accusation, and to teach
Phil Acton that there was a limit to the insult he would endure, even in
the name of friendship. To this end his only hope was to trap his
foreman with words, as he had caught Yavapai Joe. At a game of words
Honorable Patches was no unskilled novice. Controlling his anger, he
said coolly, with biting sarcasm, while he looked at the cowboy with a
mocking sneer, "You don't propose to take any chances, do you--holding
up an unarmed man?"
Patches saw by the flush that swept over Phil's cheeks how his words
bit.
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