When Wright paused I plainly heard his intake of breath.  Far indeed was he from calm.

“Steele held everybody in that hall in fear of death, and he began shouting his insults.  Law was a farce in Linrock.  The court was a farce.  There was no law.  Your father’s office as mayor should be impeached.  He made arrests only for petty offenses.  He was afraid of the rustlers, highwaymen, murderers.  He was afraid or—­he just let them alone.  He used his office to cheat ranchers and cattlemen in law-suits.

“All of this Steele yelled for everyone to hear.  A damnable outrage!  Your father, Diane, insulted in his own court by a rowdy Ranger!  Not only insulted, but threatened with death—­two big guns thrust almost in his face!”

“Oh!  How horrible!” cried Diane, in mingled distress and anger.

“Steele’s a Ranger.  The Ranger Service wants to rule western Texas,” went on Wright.  “These Rangers are all a low set, many of them worse than the outlaws they hunt.  Some of them were outlaws and gun fighters before they became Rangers.

“This Steele is one of the worst of the lot.  He’s keen, intelligent, smooth, and that makes him more to be feared.  For he is to be feared.  He wanted to kill.  He meant to kill.  If your father had made the least move Steele would have shot him.  He’s a cold-nerved devil—­the born gunman.  My God, any instant I expected to see your father fall dead at my feet!”

“Oh, George!  The—­the unspeakable ruffian!” cried Diane, passionately.

“You see, Diane, this fellow Steele has failed here in Linrock.  He’s been here weeks and done nothing.  He must have got desperate.  He’s infamous and he loves his name.  He seeks notoriety.  He made that play with Snell just for a chance to rant against your father.  He tried to inflame all Linrock against him.  That about law-suits was the worst!  Damn him!  He’ll make us enemies.”

“What do you care for the insinuations of such a man?” said Diane Sampson, her voice now deep and rich with feeling.  “After a moment’s thought no one will be influenced by them.  Do not worry, George, tell papa not to worry.  Surely after all these years he can’t be injured in reputation by—­by an adventurer.”

“Yes, he can be injured,” replied George quickly.  “The frontier is a queer place.  There are many bitter men here, men who have failed at ranching.  And your father has been wonderfully successful.  Steele has dropped some poison, and it’ll spread.”

Then followed a silence, during which, evidently, the worried Wright bestrode the floor.

“Cousin George, what became of Steele and his prisoner?” suddenly asked Sally.

How like her it was, with her inquisitive bent of mind and shifting points of view, to ask a question the answering of which would be gall and wormwood to Wright!

It amused while it thrilled me.  Sally might be a flirt, but she was no fool.