"Oh, ye do, hey?
Well, I reckon we are, if you must know.
Since Big Jim Larson got it in the shoulder this outfit right yere hes bin doin' most of the brain work.

So, if ye 've got anythin' ter say, mister officer man, I reckon ye better spit it out yere ter me, an' sorter relieve yer mind." "Who are you ?" The fellow expectorated vigorously into the leaves under foot, and drawing one hairy hand across his lips, flushed angrily to the unexpected inquiry.
"Oh, tell him, Ben.

What's the blame odds?
He can't do ye no hurt." The man's look became dogged.

"I 'm Ben Colton, if it 'll do ye any good to know." "I thought I had seen you somewhere before," said Brant, contemptuously, and then swept his glance about the circle.

"A nice leader of vigilantes you are, a fine representative of law and order, a lovely specimen of the free-born American citizen! Men, do you happen to know what sort of a cur you are following in this affair ?" "Oh, Ben's all right." "What ye got against him, young feller ?" "Just this," and Brant squarely fronted the man, his voice ringing like steel.