Sampson laughed contemptuously. "George, don't make so much noise. And
don't be a fool. You've been on the border for ten years. You've packed
a gun and you've used it. You've been with Blome and Snecker when they
killed their men. You've been present at many fights. But you never saw
a man like Steele. You haven't got sense enough to see him right if you
had a chance. Neither has Blome. The only way to get rid of Steele is
for the gang to draw on him, all at once. And even then he's going to
drop some of them."
"Sampson, you say that like a man who wouldn't care much if Steele did
drop some of them," declared Wright, and now he was sarcastic.
"To tell you the truth I wouldn't," returned the other bluntly. "I'm
pretty sick of this mess."
Wright cursed in amaze. His emotions were out of all proportion to his
intelligence. He was not at all quick-witted. I had never seen a vainer
or more arrogant man. "Sampson, I don't like your talk," he said.
"If you don't like the way I talk you know what you can do," replied
Sampson quickly. He stood up then, cool and quiet, with flash of eyes
and set of lips that told me he was dangerous.
"Well, after all, that's neither here nor there," went on Wright,
unconsciously cowed by the other.
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