The announcement of his name created for the second time that day
a stir of unusual interest. Everybody in that large audience had
heard of Ned Bannister; knew of his record as a "bad man" and his
prowess as the king of the Shoshone country; suspected him of
being a train and bank robber as well as a rustler. That he
should have the boldness to enter the contest in his own name
seemed to show how defiant he was of the public sentiment against
him, and how secure he counted himself in flaunting this
contempt. As for the sheepman, the notoriety that his cousin's
odorous reputation had thrust upon him was extremely distasteful
as well as dangerous, but he had done nothing to disgrace his
name, and he meant to use it openly. He could almost catch the
low whispers that passed from mouth to mouth about him.
"Ain't it a shame that a fellow like that, leader of all the
criminals that hide in the mountains, can show himself openly
before ten thousand honest folks?" That he knew to be the purport
of their whispering, and along with it went a recital of the
crimes he had committed. How he was a noted "waddy," or
cattle-rustler; how he and his gang had held up three trains in
eighteen months; how he had killed Tom Mooney, Bob Carney and
several others--these were the sorts of things that were being
said about him, and from the bottom of his soul he resented his
impotency to clear his name.
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