"Rustled," he said, darkly.

"There's too many loafers and homesteaders in these hills!" And he stalked out to leave his hearers food for reflection.
Jack Belllounds drank, but no one saw him drunk, and no one could tell where he got the liquor.

He rode hard and fast; he drove the cowboys one way while he went another; he had grown shifty, cunning, more intolerant than ever.

Some nights he rode to Kremmling, or said he had been there, when next day the cowboys found another spent and broken horse to turn out.

On other nights he coaxed and bullied them into playing poker.