“What have you to say about this, Hoden?” sharply queried Sampson.  “I call to your mind the fact that you once testified falsely in court, and got punished for it.”

Why did my sharpened and experienced wits interpret a hint of threat or menace in Sampson’s reminder?  Hoden rose from the bench and with an unsteady hand reached down to support himself.

He was no longer young, and he seemed broken in health and spirit.  He had been hurt somewhat about the head.

“I haven’t much to say,” he replied.  “The Ranger dragged me here.  I told him I didn’t take my troubles to court.  Besides, I can’t swear it was Snell who hit me.”

Sampson said something in an undertone to Judge Owens, and that worthy nodded his great, bushy head.

“Bud, you’re discharged,” said Sampson bluntly.  “Now, the rest of you clear out of here.”

He absolutely ignored the Ranger.  That was his rebuff to Steele’s advances, his slap in the face to an interfering Ranger Service.

If Sampson was crooked he certainly had magnificent nerve.  I almost decided he was above suspicion.  But his nonchalance, his air of finality, his authoritative assurance—­these to my keen and practiced eyes were in significant contrast to a certain tenseness of line about his mouth and a slow paling of his olive skin.

He had crossed the path of Vaughn Steele; he had blocked the way of this Texas Ranger.  If he had intelligence and remembered Steele’s fame, which surely he had, then he had some appreciation of what he had undertaken.

In that momentary lull my scrutiny of Sampson gathered an impression of the man’s intense curiosity.

Then Bud Snell, with a cough that broke the silence, shuffled a couple of steps toward the door.

“Hold on!” called Steele.

It was a bugle-call.  It halted Snell as if it had been a bullet.  He seemed to shrink.

“Sampson, I saw Snell attack Hoden,” said Steele, his voice still ringing.  “What has the court to say to that?”

The moment for open rupture between Ranger Service and Sampson’s idea of law was at hand.  Sampson showed not the slightest hesitation.

“The court has to say this:  West of the Pecos we’ll not aid or abet or accept any Ranger Service.  Steele, we don’t want you out here.  Linrock doesn’t need you.”

“That’s a lie, Sampson,” retorted Steele.  “I’ve a pocket full of letters from Linrock citizens, all begging for Ranger Service.”

Sampson turned white.  The veins corded at his temples.  He appeared about to burst into rage.  He was at a loss for a quick reply.

Steele shook a long arm at the mayor.

“I need your help.  You refuse.  Now, I’ll work alone.  This man Snell goes to Del Rio in irons.”

George Wright rushed up to the table.  The blood showed black and thick in his face; his utterance was incoherent, his uncontrollable outbreak of temper seemed out of all proportion to any cause he should reasonably have had for anger.