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as if looking for trouble.
    His eyes met Falcon’s, and he seemed to notice Falcon watching him. A slight frown creased his forehead as his mind worked, trying to recollect if he recognized the stranger.
    As Falcon watched, the star packer nudged the lanky, gangling man next to him and nodded in Falcon’s direction. The skinny man looked over with narrowed eyes, as if he were a bit shortsighted, then shrugged and went back to his beans and enchiladas.
    Falcon broke eye contact and finished eating. He wasn’t too worried about the lawman. He knew the Wanted Posters on him had been recalled after his brother had talked to the governor, so he was no longer a fugitive from the law. Still, it paid to be cautious in new towns. Some sheriffs took instant dislikes to strangers, especially ones who weren’t cowboys working for the local brands.
    As Falcon took his last bite of steak and drained his beer glass, the door to the dining room burst open and two men came running into the room. It was the tall, skinny galoot with the chin whiskers and scar on his face, one of the four who had braced Falcon and the Kid on the trail into town.
    He and his companion walked straight to the table where the lawman sat and began talking in a rapid voice, too low for Falcon to hear what was being said.
    He nudged the Kid with his elbow and inclined his head toward the group across the room. “We may have some trouble, Kid.”
    The Kid looked up from the last of his beans, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and reached down to loosen the hammer thongs on his Colt.
    Falcon noticed the movement and put his hand on the Kid’s arm. “Easy, cowboy. Remember, you’re here to make a new start. Getting into a shooting match with the sheriff is not a good way to begin your stay here.”
    â€œI’m not plannin’ nothin’, Falcon. But it don’t hurt none to be ready, just in case.”
    After Scarface stopped talking, the man with the star nodded in their direction. The two new arrivals turned to stare at Falcon and the Kid, then pointed and nodded their heads.
    Star packer pursed his lips, then got to his feet, hitching up his gunbelt and getting his hat from a nearby hatrack. He ambled across the room, followed by the six men with him until he stopped to stand in front of their table.
    â€œHowdy, gents,” he said, hands hanging near his pistol.
    Falcon pushed his chair back, leaned back, and extended his right leg, with his right hand on his thigh near his Colt in case the sheriff gave him no choice.
    â€œGood morning, Sheriff,” Falcon said, staring at the man with the badge but watching his friends out of the corner of his eyes.
    The Kid said nothing, but Falcon noticed he shifted in his chair so his pistol was within ready reach should the need arise. He, too, watched the group before them, a slight grin curling the corners of his mouth, his eyes as cold as a winter blizzard.
    â€œMy name’s Sheriff William Brady. My men tell me you drew down on them, and shot one of my deputies.”
    Falcon cut his eyes to Scarface. “Then your men are liars, sheriff.”
    Scarface blanched at the insult, his hand falling toward his pistol as he leaned forward.
    Falcon didn’t move or take his eyes off the man. “Your man drew on my friend and me first, Sheriff, for no reason.”
    Falcon paused for just a second, then continued. “And if you don’t control that one there, he’ll be the next one lying on his back with a bullet in his chest.” He inclined his head toward Scarface.
    Brady’s eyes narrowed as he studied Falcon and noticed the way his Colts were tied down low, and the way his hands were quiet, with no sign of nerves at facing seven men to their two. He chewed on his lip, considering his options.
    â€œWell, whatever the cause I don’t take kindly to strangers shootin’ up my men.”
    Falcon shrugged. “I don’t take kindly to tinhorn