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By Brian Garfield

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Tonio made no reply. Looking over the Indian's shoulder toward the timber, Brady saw Pete Rubio riding unhurriedly forward. Rubio came up, drew rein just outside the fence and said mildly, "I let him know I was behind him. " "Like driving stock into a box canyon," Brady observed. "Good job, Pete. " "Sure," Rubio said laconically, dragging out his rifle. He laid the rifle across the crook of his elbow and let it hang there, seemingly unaimed. But the muzzle was lined up squarely with Tonio's chest.

Sadie Rand, all youth and blondeness and quiet prettiness, opened the door. "Dad's gone out to the saloon," she said immediately. " Harris smiled. " He leaned forward, catching the point of her chin on his finger, and lifted her head for a kiss. She seemed to notice his restraint; she came through into the store, closing the door behind her. "That was a cool greeting. Captain," she said in a playful tone. She glanced at the mug of beer in his hand and walked right past him to the counter. "Your friend left half a mug of beer," she said.

Harris demanded, wheeling on him. Brady shrugged. " Harris shook his head. "I know him better than that. You don't talk George Sutherland out of anything. He'll fight at the drop of a hat, but it takes a lot more to make him think. " "Beat him up, then,'' Brady said in an offhand tone, and dropped off his seat. "I guess I've about emptied my bucket of wisdom for one night," he said, and grinned, and went out through the front door. Harris shook his head, musing quizzically about Brady's strange, carefree personality, so much contradicting the man's physical powerfulness and heavy, craggy features.

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