I felt the hot blood pump in my veins.  Did the man know this to be true, or was he merely making the claim for effect?

“That, of course, remains to be proven,” I returned smilingly.

“Oh, does it, now!  So does this yer wife business, to my thinkin’.  Wal, it won’t take long ter settle the matter, believe me.  Who are you enyhow?”

“My name is Craig—­Gordon Craig.”

“A lawyer?”

“Not guilty.”

“A damn detective?”

“Same plea.”

I thought he gave a grunt of relief; anyhow there was more assurance in his manner, a fresh assumption of bullying in his voice.

“All right, then; I reckon I got yer number, Craig.  Yer after a little easy money.  Somehow yer caught onto the mix-up down yere, an’ framed up a scheme to cop the coin.  Might hav’ worked too if I had n’t been on the job, an’ posted.  Damn nice-lookin’ girl yer picked up—­”

“Drop that, Coombs!” I interrupted sharply, leaning forward and staring him in the eyes.  “Let loose all you care to about me, but cut out the woman!”

“Oh, too nice, hey!”

“Yes, too nice for you to befoul even with your tongue.  If you mention her name again except in terms of respect there is going to be trouble.”

He laughed, opening and closing his big hands.

“I mean it,” I went on soberly.  “Don’t think I am afraid of you, you big slob.  No, you keep your hands where they are.  If it comes to a draw you ’ll find me quick enough to block your game.  Now listen.”

Had I been less in earnest, or less puzzled as to the real situation, I would have laughed at the expression upon the man’s face.  With hat pulled over his eyes, he sat stiff, staring at me, his fingers twitching nervously, unable to determine just the species confronting him.  I made no display of a weapon; he could not be sure that I was armed, yet my right hand was hidden in the side pocket of my coat.  I could read the doubt, the indecision in his mind, as plainly as though expressed in words.  The brute and the coward struggled for mastery.

“I ’ve told you the truth about who we are, and our purpose in coming here,” I went on slowly and clearly, “because I have decided to fight in the open.  Now I want to know who you are?  What authority you have on the Henley plantation?  Speak up!”

The reply came reluctantly, but there must have been a sternness in my face which compelled an answer.

“I told yer—­I ’m the overseer.”

“A fine specimen, from the looks of the place; what was you ordered to grow—­weeds?”

“Thet ‘s none o’ your business.”

“It ’s the business of the lady upstairs, Coombs, and I am representing her at present.  It will be just as well for you to be civil.  Who appointed you to this position—­the administrators?”

“I reckon not.”

“Ever hear of a man named Neale, P. B. Neale?”