The Sheriff's Son
"I'm through with you and Tighe. You 'll stop making trouble or you 'll get out of here. I'm going to clean up the park—going to make it a place where decent folks can live. You 've got yore warning now, Dan. Walk a straight chalk-line or hit the trail."
"You can't talk that way to me, Rutherford. I know too much," threatened Meldrum, baring his teeth.
"Don't think it for a minute, Dan. Who is going to take yore word against mine? I 've got the goods on you. I can put you through for rustling any time I have a mind to move. And if you don't let young Beaudry alone, I 'll do it."
"Am I the only man that ever rustled? Ain't there others in the park? I reckon you 've done some night-riding yore own self."
"Some," drawled Rutherford, with a grim little smile. "By and large, I 've raised a considerable crop of hell. But I'm reforming in my old age. New Mexico has had a change of heart. Guns are going out, Meldrum, and little red schoolhouses are coming in. We 've got to keep up with the fashions."
"Hmp! Schoolhouses! I know what's ailin' you. Since Anse Rutherford's girl—"
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