An' if you turn a trick you'll be damn lucky," growled Folsom.
The other rustler did not speak.

He was small, swarthy-faced, with sloe-black eyes and matted hair, evidently a white man with Mexican blood.

Keen, strung, furtive, he kept motionless, awaiting events.
"Buster Jack, these new pards of yours are low-down rustlers, an' one of them's worse, as I could prove," said Wade, "but compared with you they're all gentlemen." Belllounds leered.

But he was losing his bravado.

Something began to dawn upon his obtuse consciousness.
"What do I care for you or your gabby talk ?" he flashed, sullenly.
"You'll care when I tell these rustlers how you double-crossed them." Belllounds made a spring, like that of a wolf in a trap; but when half-way up he slipped.