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"Stop where you are!" shouted Swope, holding out a warning hand as the cowman showed no sign of halting. But Creede came straight on, never flinching, until he had almost ridden him down. "You low-lived, sheep-eatin' hound," he hissed, piling in the wickedest of his range epithets, "you and me have had it comin' fer quite a while, and now I've got you.
And to Johnnie, sunk in his quilt, "Don't y' beller, sonny, I ain't got no grunt comin'. I done my best. But he's stronger'n me, that's all they is to it, and heftier. But it all goes to show that if I ain't no match for him, he's lower'n a sheep-eatin' greaser t' go hit a kid 'r a girl!"
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