"You know me?" asked Farnsworth, with a smile.
"By reputation."
"May I ask your name?"
"Certainly. I beg your pardon. I am Ted Strong."
At this Farnsworth suddenly pulled his horse to its haunches, at the
same time throwing his hand backward, and, with almost incredible
rapidity, whipping out a revolver.
His face was white, and had as suddenly assumed an expression in which
fear and determination were equally present.
"No, you don't!" he said slowly and coldly. "You don't get me that way.
I'm not as easy as that."
Ted had made no move to draw his revolver, and was smiling in an amused
sort of way.
"I'm sure I don't want you," he said.
"You're a deputy United States marshal, aren't you?"
"I am, but I'm not after you."
"Then you haven't heard?"
"Nothing about you recently. When I was in this part of the country
before I heard----"
"Oh, you can always hear a lot about a fellow in this rotten part of the
world--except the truth. Then you haven't heard the latest news from
Rodeo?"
"Not a word."
"And you don't want to arrest me?"
"Not now. I wouldn't know what to arrest you for, and I haven't seen a
United States warrant for months."
"I believe I can trust you. You seem to be a square chap, in spite of
what I've heard of you. But I want to tell you one thing: I've got eyes
in the back of my head, and there isn't a quicker man on the draw in
Arizona, so no monkey business.
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