If Sampson was crooked he certainly had magnificent nerve. I almost
decided he was above suspicion. But his nonchalance, his air of
finality, his authoritative assurance--these to my keen and practiced
eyes were in significant contrast to a certain tenseness of line about
his mouth and a slow paling of his olive skin.
He had crossed the path of Vaughn Steele; he had blocked the way of this
Texas Ranger. If he had intelligence and remembered Steele's fame, which
surely he had, then he had some appreciation of what he had undertaken.
In that momentary lull my scrutiny of Sampson gathered an impression of
the man's intense curiosity.
Then Bud Snell, with a cough that broke the silence, shuffled a couple
of steps toward the door.
"Hold on!" called Steele.
It was a bugle-call. It halted Snell as if it had been a bullet. He
seemed to shrink.
"Sampson, I _saw_ Snell attack Hoden," said Steele, his voice still
ringing. "What has the court to say to that?"
The moment for open rupture between Ranger Service and Sampson's idea of
law was at hand. Sampson showed not the slightest hesitation.
"The court has to say this: West of the Pecos we'll not aid or abet or
accept any Ranger Service.
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