Bryant explained that he was dropping Dave here to take the stage for Kennard when it came along after dinner.  He himself was riding on.

“He’ll eat dinner with us, of course, and I’ll put him aboard the stage myself,” she exclaimed, with a pat on the shoulder of the boy who had now dismounted.  “Won’t you stop for a moment, Mr. Bryant?  I’ll give you a glass of fresh buttermilk to speed you on your way; a stirrup cup, we’ll call it.  The woman has just finished churning.”

Lee declared that he would drink a glass with very great pleasure.  He was thirsty, he said, and in addition was fond of buttermilk.

Menocal listened and watched him dismount and ground his teeth.  Louise knew the thief, after all.  Where the devil had they become acquainted?  It was but one more instance of the engineer’s pushing in where he wasn’t wanted.  And she had not invited him, Charlie, to partake of buttermilk, though, to be sure, she knew he did not like it.  He felt slighted.

When Bryant and Louise ascended the veranda, Dave loitering below, the engineer said nonchalantly, “Hello, Charlie, how are tricks?  Anything new up your sleeve?”—­in a way that set the other’s blood boiling; and when he carelessly added, “What about that story the stage-driver’s telling of you and a senorita going into a ditch with your car at Rosita the other night?” he was quite ready to murder both Bryant and the stage-driver.

So upset was Charlie that he was unable to share in the conversation.  He curtly refused a glass when Louise brought a pitcher of buttermilk, then changed his mind, and ended by choking over the wretched stuff.  The situation was intolerable; his pride was smarting; the others talked on with unperturbed countenances, ignoring his silence; and his self-respect required some action in the face of the affront.  He abruptly stood up and announced that he was departing.

In Louise’s manner at this news there was no repining that he could observe.  She did not protest.  Her words were impersonally pleasant as ever, but vague; and he perceived that she only half heeded his going; and that her eyes brightened when once more she turned to her visitor.  This was the final stab.  With hatred in his heart and a wicked glitter in his eyes, Charlie Menocal went down the steps to his automobile, feeling the need of a victim, preferably the engineer.  Bryant had insulted him at the ford; he was attempting to rob him and his father; he had insolently threatened the elder Menocal; he stopped at nothing; and now he was intruding here and deceiving Louise with his arrogant pretentions.  He came on Dave, standing beside the car and examining the latch of a door.

“Keep your hands off that!” he snapped.  At the same time he gave the boy a cuff that sent him sprawling.  “That will teach you!”

In two bounds Lee Bryant was at the spot.  He caught the still-extended hand in an iron grip.

“You miserable coward!  Striking a boy!” he said, harshly.  “Feeling that you must vent your spite on someone, you pick on this unoffending lad.  If you ever raise so much as a finger against him again——­”