He felt that something was wrong, but what it was he had not the
slightest idea. For many years old Joe Cumberland had patiently taught
him that the last offence against God and man was to fight. The old
cattleman had instilled in him the belief that if he did not cross the
path of another, no one would cross his way. The code was perfect
and satisfying. He would let the world alone and the world would not
trouble him. The placid current of his life had never come to "white
waters" of wrath.
Wherefore he gazed bewildered about him. They were laughing--they were
laughing unpleasantly at him as he had seen men laugh at a fiery young
colt which struggled against the rope. It was very strange. They could
not mean harm. Therefore he smiled back at them rather uncertainly.
Morgan slapped at his shoulder by way of good-fellowship and to
hearten him, but Dan slipped away under the extended hand with a
motion as subtle and swift as the twist of a snake when it flees for
its hole. He had a deep aversion for contact with another man's body.
He hated it as the wild horse hates the shadow of the flying rope.
"Steady up, pal," said Morgan, "the lads mean no harm. That tall man
is considerable riled; which he'll now bet his sombrero agin you when
it comes to shootin'.
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