I saw thick, dark red creep into his face.
Had Wright's incomprehensible mention of Diane Sampson been an instinct of love--of jealousy?
Verily, it had pierced into the depths of the Ranger, probably as no other thrust could have.
"Diane Sampson wouldn't stoop to know a dirty blood-tracker like you," said Wright hotly.

His was not a deliberate intention to rouse Steele; the man was simply rancorous.

"I'll call you right, you cheap bluffer! You four-flush! You damned interfering conceited Ranger!" Long before Wright ended his tirade Steele's face had lost the tinge of color, so foreign to it in moments like this; and the cool shade, the steady eyes like ice on fire, the ruthless lips had warned me, if they had not Wright.
"Wright, I'll not take offense, because you seem to be championing your beautiful cousin," replied Steele in slow speech, biting.

"But let me return your compliment.

You're a fine Southerner! Why, you're only a cheap four-flush--damned bull-headed--_rustler_" Steele hissed the last word.