challenged, the heat of anger on having his authority questioned giving a ripe tint to the sheepmanly tan his weeks on the open range had spread on him. "You never got a thump on the side of your head with a five-pound law book, you never had her grab both hands a-hold of your moustache and pull you down and spit in your face. I tell you, Rawlins, you don't know what you're talkin' about."
"I guess not, Peck. I yield the floor; the argument's yours. How'll you have your beans—with grease, or plain?"
"I like 'em floatin' in it. That's all the inside dope a single man's got on this marriage business," Peck went on, carrying on his complaint. "He sees 'em when they've got company, he don't know nothing about the sessions they have off on the side. Well, a man can't kill 'em off; he can't go that fur to shake 'em, Rawlins. Arsneck and strickenine wouldn't have no more effect on that old girl than powdered sugar, anyhow. I don't believe there ever was a pizen made that'd fase her, but if she ever throws a leg over that fence to foller me in here, I'll stitch"
They both broke for the door, Rawlins dropping his breakfast preparations as Peck dropped his threats against the peace and dignity of his wife. There was a burst of shooting, an outbreak of yells, across the creek in the direction of Peck's sheep. Peck made it into the open first, where he turned, his face white, his crawfish eyes wild.
"It's them fence fellers—they're killin' my sheep! Git your gun and come on!"
Peck streaked away like a hound with the last word,
