"Yes, I do. I intended to buy a new shot-gun with it. I am almost the
only decent fellow in the settlement who doesn't own a breech-loader.
I have racked my brain for months, to think up some way to earn money
enough to get one, and when I am just about to accomplish my object,
you and Don have to jump up and rob me of the chance. The man tells
me that he would be glad to give me the contract, if he hadn't given
it to you. I've a good notion to slap you over."
"It isn't for us," replied Bert. "It is for Dave Evans; and I think
you will acknowledge that he needs the money if anybody does."
"Dave Evans!" sneered Bob.
"Yes; and he needs clothes and food more than you need a new
shot-gun."
"I guess I know what I want and how much I want it," retorted Bob.
"I'm to be shoved aside to give place to that lazy ragamuffin, am I?
If I don't make you wish that you had kept your nose out of my
business, I'm a Dutchman."
Bert did not wait to hear all of this speech. Seeing that Bob was
getting angrier every minute, and that his rage was likely to get the
better of him, he drew on his gloves, mounted his pony and set out
for home. Bob followed a quarter of a mile or so in his rear, and
once or twice he whipped up his horse and closed in on Bert as if he
had made up his mind to carry out his threat of slapping him over.
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