"Ain't I labored and slaved all my life to make you handy with guns?
What for d'you think I wasted all them hours showin' you how to pull a trigger and where to shoot and how to get a gun out of the leather ?" "To kill for meat," suggested Harry.
"Meat, nothing! The kind of meat I mean walks on two feet and fights back." "Maybe, if we started together--" ventured Joe.
His father broke in, "Boy, I ain't going to send out a pack of men to run down Pete Reeve.

He met me single and he fought me clean, and he's going to be pulled down by no pack of yaller dogs! Go one of you alone or else both of you stay here." He waited, but there was no response.

"Is this the way my blood is showin' up in my sons?
Is this the result of all my trainin' ?" After that there was no more talk.

The long silence was not broken by even the sound of breathing until someone began to snore.

Then Bull knew that the sleep of the night had settled down.
He lay with his hands folded behind his head, thinking.