I reckon Lige Willetts better keep out of Hartley's way." "I keep out of no man's way," cried a voice behind him.

Turning, they saw Lige standing on the threshold of the door that led to the street.
In his hand he held the bridle of the horse he had ridden across the sidewalk, and that now stood panting, with lowered head, half through the doorway, beside his master.

Lige was hatless, splashed with mud from head to foot; his jaw was set, his teeth ground together; his eyes burned under red lids, and his hair lay tossed and damp on his brow.

"I keep out of no man's way," he repeated, hoarsely.
"I heard you, Mr.Tibbs, but I've got too much to do, while you loaf and gas and drink over Lum Landis's bar--I've got other business than keeping out of Hartley Bowlder's way.

I'm looking for John Harkless.