but we might at least have
been civil. You've heard a great deal of stuff while you were away that
your informants wouldn't repeat to my face. And I tell you they are all
lies! Did you voice any of them to Miss--to her?"

Again Marston felt the truth dragged from him. But a sardonic smile of
malicious pleasure spread over his face as he answered--

"I told her a little about my trip, and how a certain friend of hers had
another sweetheart back up there, but she broke away before I could tell
her all--"

"_Broke_ away!--Devil! Did you hold her?"

Restraint for the moment was cast aside.

Glenning's long hands grasped each of Marston's arms just below the
shoulders, and so he held him motionless.

"I didn't touch her!" was the snarling answer. "I held the damned colt
by the bridle until she drew on me--"

John flung him backward with an oath.

"_Strip!_"

He hissed out the word with sibilant wrath, and threw off his light
coat. Then, trembling the least bit while fighting inwardly for calm, he
began rolling back his sleeves. He ceased these preparations long enough
to toss his hat upon his coat and discard tie and collar. Marston cast
another hungry look at the revolver, while making no move to comply with
the order he had received. Glenning came towards him.

"Are you going to fight, or must I slap your face, you dog?"

The concluding word gave Marston a happy thought, and he quickly pursed
his heavy lips, and whistled shrilly. He had no mind for an encounter
with the young man where the weapons employed would be fists alone. He
was probably stronger, but he secretly felt that he would be punished
severely should they come to blows. He had much rather that his
boar-hound fight for him, so he issued the summons.

"No more of that!" said John, sternly. "Make another sound and I strike
you, whether you are prepared or not. Are you coming, or shall I break
a switch from one of your bushes, and lay you across my knee?"

This taunt was more than flesh and blood could bear. It pierced even
Marston's seared sensibilities, and stung like something hot. He got out
of his coat with one lightning-like movement, and at once assumed the
offensive. This was what Glenning wished. It would have been degrading
to knock down and batter about some one who made no resistance. The men
presented an interesting contrast as they stood on guard. Glenning wore
a white negligee shirt, and gray trousers, neatly creased. He was clean