Ford,
fighting as he had always fought, be he drunk or sober, came speedily to
the point where he could inspect a skinned knuckle and afterwards gaze
in peace upon his antagonist.
He was occupied with both diversions when the door was pushed open as by
a man in great haste. He looked up from the knuckle into the expectant
eyes of Jim Felton, and over the shoulder of Jim he saw a gloating
certainty writ large upon the face of Dick Thomas. They had been
running; he could tell that by their uneven breathing, and it occurred
to him that they must have heard the clamor when he pitched Mose head
first into the dish cupboard. There had been considerable noise about
that time, he remembered; they must also have heard the howl Mose gave
at the instant of contact. Ford glanced involuntarily at that side of
the room where stood the cupboard, and mentally admitted that it looked
like there had been a slight disagreement, or else a severe seismic
disturbance; and Montana is not what one calls an earthquake country.
His eyes left the generous sprinkle of broken dishes on the floor, with
Mose sprawled inertly in their midst, looking not unlike a broken
platter himself--or one badly nicked--and rested again upon the grinning
face behind the shoulder of Jim Felton.
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