Whilst the greatest effort has been made to ensure the quality of this text, due to the historical nature of this content, in some rare cases there may be minor issues with legibility. Idaho Norton, laughing heartily, backed out of the barroom of Quayle’s hotel and trod firmly on the foot of Ward Corwin, sheriff of the county, who was about to pass the door. Idaho wheeled, a casual apology trembling on his lips, to hear a biting, sarcastic flow of words, full of profanity, and out of all proportion to the careless injury. The sheriff’s coppery face was a deeper color than usual and bore an expression not pleasant to see. The puncher stepped back a pace, alert, lithe, balanced, the apology forgotten, and gazed insolently into the peace officer’s wrathful eyes.<br><br> – an’ why don’t you look where yo’re steppin’? Don’t you know how to act when you come to town? snarled the sheriff, finishing his remarks.<br><br>Idaho looked him over coolly. I know how to act in any company, even yourn. Just now I ain’t actin’ – I’m waitin’.<br><br>The sheriff’s eyes glinted. I got a good mind – <br><br>You ain’t got nothin’ of th’ sort, cut in the puncher, contemptuously.
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