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understand that Pat Stevens doesn’t even draw a salary as sheriff. No wonder he hasn’t the time nor inclination to run down the rustlers stealing my stock. We’ve got to put a man in the sheriff’s office who’ll devote his full time to the job of maintaining order in Powder Valley. I’m here to make a fair offer. Out of my own pocket I’ll pay half of the salary of a new sheriff.”
    â€œMakes a man wonder why you’re so anxious to get Pat out of office,” Winters said. “When a man spends money he’s generally got a good reason.”
    â€œYou’re right,” Harlow told him. “I’ll save money by getting an energetic sheriff on the job. Maybe some of you have wondered about the new hands I’ve been hiring lately. I intend to protect my cattle from rustlers if I have to hire a private army of gun-hands to do it. It’d be cheaper for me to pay the entire salary of a sheriff.”
    Most of the men in the room glanced aside at the half dozen riders who had entered quietly after the others and stood slouched against the wall. All were armed with guns in open holsters worn low on the hip for a fast draw. They were a hard-bitten bunch. Their leader was a tall thin-faced man with a drooping sandy mustache.
    â€œIf yo’re losin’ cattle yo’re the only man in the Valley that is,” said John Boyd harshly. “Me, I kinda doubt it.”
    Harlow’s features hardened. “Are you calling me a liar?”
    Boyd shrugged and spit a stream of tobacco juice at a crack in the floor. “Got anybody to back up yore story?”
    Harlow looked at the men along the wall. “How about it, Tex? You tell them about the rustlers.”
    â€œOh him!” Boyd looked at the sandy-mustached gunman scornfully, “Shore he’d back up yore lie.”
    The gunman stepped away from the wall with his eyes fixed on the seamed face of the aged rancher. His thumbs were hooked inside his gun-belts in front and he moved with a stealthy flowing stride like a snake crossing the floor. In a gentle Texas drawl that held unmistakable menace, he asked, “Would you be meanin’ me, Mistah?”
    Ezra started to get up but Sam Sloan put a hand on the big man’s shoulder and forced him back to the bench. He got up instead, and his hand was openly on the butt of his gun. His dark face was distorted as he snarled, “Pick on me if yo’re lookin’ fer trouble.”
    Tex stopped and surveyed him unconcernedly, a grin twitching the thin lips beneath his mustache.
    Before he could speak, Eustis Harlow said placatingly, “Let’s not have this sort of thing, gentlemen. We can settle this without shooting. The only question before this meeting is whether we shall appoint someone to take Pat Stevens’ place as sheriff of Powder Valley. Votes are much better than bullets.”
    â€œHe’s right,” said a quiet voice from the back of the room. “Sit down an’ cool off, Sam.”
    It was Pat Stevens. He sauntered forward with lamplight gleaming from the silver star on his shirt.
    Sam Sloan glared at Pat and then sat down. Tex surveyed the newcomer carefully, and then moved back to lean against the wall again.
    Eustis Harlow’s face hardened as Pat came toward him. He said bitterly, “I hoped you wouldn’t hear about this meeting in time to attend. I figured it’d be easier on you that way.”
    â€œThat,” said Pat, “was right considerate of you, Mister Harlow. I shore appreciate you tryin’ tuh spare my feelings.” He nodded to Boyd and the storekeeper, said, “Howdy, John,” and sauntered past them to stand beside Harlow at the table.
    â€œWe’ve decided,” Harlow told him loudly, “to make up a salary and appoint a full-time sheriff for Powder Valley. I’m paying half the salary out of my own pocket.”
    â€œIn that case,” said Pat