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to take a look at you.’
    One of the other men spoke. ‘Yeah, play it safe, Griff. Take him down to the old man.’
    The man Griff said: ‘We’ll do that. Get goin’, feller. Ride down to the house ahead of us and don’t try nothin’.’
    McAllister sighed, neck-reined his horse around and rode down the ridge at a walk. He heard the other men following behind. He knew he was on a cattle-baron’s land and his presence was resented. It was an old story. A little man had grown big and was enjoying his power. Yet there was more to it than that. This fellow Brenell was having trouble with his neighbours. Else why was he sensitive about gun-hands coming into the country? He began to feel a little depressed. He had come into this country for some kind of a vacation, some rest, to enjoy the home comforts of Jim Rigby’s ranch for a while and then to ride on. First there had been the unpleasant mayhem in Abbotsville and now this. Maybe, he could talk his way out of it. Maybe he couldn’t. Knowing the way his luck had of going, he thought probably he couldn’t.
    As they came down onto the flat and McAllister lifted the canelo to a brisk trot that hurt his injured side a little, a man man came out of the soddy and stared at him, shading his eyes against the bright sun with a hand. He turned to call something and a man working horses in the corral, turned and stared in the direction of the approaching riders. As McAllister came nearer, this man stepped through the corral fence and joined the first man. As he drew closer, McAllister saw that the two were undoubtedly father and son, both big, both broad in the chest and narrow in the hips. One in his mid-forties with a golden gray beard to his chest, the otherthe same age as McAllister, golden-haired and with a wild look about the eyes like that of an unbroken mustang. Neither wore guns, both wore range clothes. They were both arrogant and had the look of men who would ride opposition into the ground.
    â€˜Who’s this?’ the older man demanded.
    â€˜Found him on the west ridge, Mr. Brenell,’ the cast-eyed man said.
    The younger man said: ‘Get down and let’s have a look at you.’
    McAllister stayed still for a moment, considering. Then he stepped down from the saddle. The young man walked around him, inspecting him like he would a horse.
    â€˜Just another saddlebum, dad?’
    The older man looked him over. Griff said: ‘Says he’s headed for Clanton. Says he don’t have no business there.’
    Brenell said: ‘Looks like a gun-hand to me. Tell from their eyes. Mean. This feller’s mean all right. What’s your name, boy?’
    â€˜Remington McAllister.’
    The name meant something to them, McAllister could tell that at once. Their looks hardened.
    â€˜A hell-raiser.’ The man stood staring at McAllister, thinking. He plainly did not know what to do next. If McAllister was a danger to him he wanted him out of it. But he couldn’t kill a man out of hand.
    â€˜You hiring your gun in Clanton?’
    â€˜I never hired my gun in my life,’ McAllister told him.
    Young Brenell said: ‘Liar.’
    McAllister took his time about turning and looking at him. He smiled.
    â€˜Call off your watchdogs,’ he said, ‘and say that again.’
    Young Brenell said: ‘And what would you do?’
    â€˜Knock your teeth down your throat.’
    The young man looked eager, like a hound smelling blood. He turned to his father and said: ‘Let me take him, dad.’
    â€˜No,’ said Brenell. ‘Boys, see him onto the Clanton road. McAllister, I see you sniffing around here again and you’ll get what you asking for. My men have guns and they’re there to protect my range. Hear?’
    â€˜I hear,’ McAllister said.
    â€˜Now, mount up and get outa here.’
    McAllister stepped into the saddle and said pleasantly: ‘Maybe I’ll