"I was kind of worried about you," Bruce said, endeavoring to speak naturally. "I'm glad you got in."
"Don't know what you'd worry about me for," was the snarling answer. "I'm as well able to take care of myself as you are."
"It's a bad night for anybody to be roaming around the hills." Bruce was adjusting the lamp chimney and putting it back on the shelf, but he noticed that Slim's face was working as it did in his rages, and he sighed; they were in for another row.
"You think you're so almighty wise; I don't need you to tell me when it's fit to be out."
Bruce did not answer, but his black eyes began to shine. Slim noticed it with seeming satisfaction, and went on: "I saw them pet sheep of yourn comin' down. Did you give 'em salt?"
Bruce hesitated.
"Yes, Slim, I did. I suppose I shouldn't have done it, but the poor little devils----"
"And I'm to go without! Who the ---- do you think you are to give away my salt?"
"Your salt----" Bruce began savagely, then stopped. "Look here, Slim!" His deep voice had an appealing note. "It wasn't right when there was so little, I'll admit that, but what's the use of being so onery? I wouldn't have made a fuss if you had done the same thing. Let's try and get along peaceable the few days we'll be cooped up in here, and when the storm lets up I'll pull out. I should have gone before. But I don't want to wrangle and quarrel with you, Slim; honest I don't."
"You bet you don't!" Slim answered, with ugly significance.
Bruce's strong, brown fingers tightened as he leaned against the window casement with folded arms. His silence seemed to madden Slim.
"You bet you don't!" he reiterated, and added in shrill venom: "I might 'a' knowd how 'twould be when I throwed in with a mucker like you."
"Careful, Slim--go slow!" Bruce's eyes were blazing now between their narrowed lids, but he did not move. His voice was a whisper.
"That's what I said! I'll bet your father toted mortar for a plasterer and your mother washed for a dance hall!"
Slim's taunting, devilish face, corpse-like in its pallor above his black beard, was all Bruce saw as he sprang for his throat. He backed him against the door and held him there.
"You miserable dog--I ought to kill you!" The words came from between his set teeth. He drew back his hand and slapped him first on the right cheek, then on the left. He flung Slim from him the length of the cabin, where he struck against the bunk.