"It's true, Naab; he's my new foreman," put in Holderness, suavely. "A
hundred a month--in gold--and I've got as good a place for you."
"Well, by G--d!" Dave's arms came down and his face blanched to his lips.
"Holderness!"
"I know what you'd say," interrupted the ranchman.
"But stop it. I know you're game. And what's the use of fighting? I'm
talking business. I'll--"
"You can't talk business or anything else to me," said Dave Naab, and he
veered sharply toward his brother. "Say it again, Snap Naab. You've
hired out to ride for this man?"
"That's it."
"You're going against your father, your brothers, your own flesh and
blood?"
"I can't see it that way."
"Then you're a drunken, easily-led fool. This man's no rancher. He's a
rustler. He ruined Martin Cole, the father of your first wife. He's
stolen our cattle; he's jumped our water-rights. He's trying to break
us. For God's sake, ain't you a man?"
"Things have gone bad for me," replied Snap, sullenly, shifting in his
saddle. "I reckon I'll do better to cut out alone for myself."
"You crooked cur! But you're only my half-brother, after all.
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