Gallup had never before in his life been faced down like that. And with so many men looking on! Yet in his heart, though no man had ever called him a coward, he was afraid of Timber-Wolf; mortally afraid. There was the look of death itself in the eyes flashing into his own. He sought to laugh the thing off, saying, with what semblance of fine scorn he could master: "_Your_ word!" "I am no liar," said Standing wrathfully. "And no man in all Arizona and New Mexico ever called me liar. Do you, Young Gallup?" "Bruce!" called Sheriff Taggart sharply, for the first time speaking a word. "What's the sense of trying to start a row? Drop all this foolery and let me have a word with you." "That's fair enough," agreed Standing. "I've no desire to break Gallup's neck so long as he leaves me alone. But make it snappy, as I have another engagement." "I want to talk with you privately, Bruce." Taggart obviously was angry, and yet it was equally clear that when it came to dealing with the Timber-Wolf, Jim Taggart meant to hold himself well in hand. "I won't stand for corner-whisperings," Standing told him sternly. "If it happens you've got anything for my set of ears, they're listening. But it's right now or never." Taggart's black and ominous scowl deepened, and he shuffled his feet back and forth, and in the end stamped them in his anger. But still he held the curb line upon himself. "You always was a strong-headed man, Bruce, that would have things his way. So be it. And I guess, being a man myself that stands on his own two legs, I can say it all in one mouthful: You and me has always been friends. Are we that yet?"