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share, not ever. When we was boys we’d have a dozen toys on the ground between us, but we’d fight over one. We’ve always been like that.”
    â€œThey tried to steal our business,” one of the men in the group put in. When Longarm raised an eyebrow he added, “They came over here and tried to lure our cowboys away to their side.”
    â€œYou stake a claim on a particular batch of cowboys?” Longarm asked.
    The fellow nodded. “We trade with the Nebraska stockmen and their cowboys. The Double T and R Slash and the Rafter O. They’re ours. They’re Nebraska brands.”
    â€œAnd over on that side?” Longarm asked.
    â€œThey do business with the TTL, the XOX, the MCX, and the XL Bar. They’re all Wyoming brands. The thing is, um, the state of Nebraska doesn’t recognize Wyoming brands. So any Wyoming beeves that wander across the line could be . . . I’m not saying they necessarily are . . . but those animals could legally be claimed over here.”
    â€œAnd if your livestock wander over there?” Longarm reached for a cheroot. A thin young man in the crowd quickly snapped a match aflame and held it for him.
    The question brought a chorus of scowls from the assembled gents. “Then the sons o’ bitches steal them,” Potts said.
    â€œAh, so if your beeves stray into Wyoming, that crowd steals them. But if theirs happen t’ come over here, then you’re only gathering unclaimed stock if you take ’em and run ’em in with your herds.”
    â€œNot our herds exactly. We’re businessmen not stockmen,” Potts said, “but you have the general idea.”
    â€œBut you have no choice except to share the water since that’s the only standing water around here,” Longarm said.
    â€œThat pretty much explains the way of things,” Potts agreed.
    â€œAnd the letter to Marshal Vail?”
    â€œWhat letter?” he got back from the Nebraska contingent.
    â€œYou boys don’t know anything about a letter that came from a place called Valstone?”
    â€œNot me.”
    â€œNo, sir.”
    â€œNot none of us.”
    â€œDo you have a post office?” Longarm asked them.
    â€œOur general store has a mail counter in back.”
    â€œAnd across the way?”
    â€œSame thing. It’s a mail counter, not exactly a post office. We talked about applying for a regular post office, but we haven’t gotten around to it just yet.”
    â€œInteresting,” Longarm said. He scratched an itch on the side of his nose and smoothed his mustache tips, then dug into his britches for a coin. “I could stand a beer,” he said. “Maybe even a beer an’ a shot.”
    â€œHere, deputy. Let us buy,” came the return, a purely lovely sentiment, Longarm thought.
    And he was right about at least one thing. The beer and the whiskey in Jason Potts’s Nebraska saloon were much better than in Jacob Potts’s Wyoming establishment.

Chapter 16
    â€œHi, everyone. I’m sorry I’m late.” The voice came from behind him as he stood with a whiskey glass raised halfway to his lips. The voice was soft and husky and very feminine, and as he turned around he thought . . .
    â€œOh, God. Liz?”
    The lady smiled. “Hello, Custis.”
    â€œMy God, I can’t believe . . . what are you doing here?”
    Elizabeth Kunsler said, “Why, I came to the meeting, of course. All the merchants in Stonecipher are invited.”
    â€œBut . . . you. What are
you
doing here? In the town, I mean. The last time I saw you . . .”
    â€œI was living in Omaha,” she finished for him. “I married. You remember James, don’t you? James Stonecipher. He discovered this spot and recognized the need for stores to supply the ranches in the area. So he developed the town. Jimmy died last