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you shouldn’t have no trouble.”
    â€œWhere’ll you be?” Jack asked.
    I’ll take two horses into town. I’ll bring back another saddle and supplies. If I ain’t with you by tomorrow night, don’t fret. I’ll be there the followin’ day.”
    Jack said: “Maybe there’ll be trouble in town. There’s the sheriff and Markham’s a powerful man.”
    â€œGibson always tried to keep to the middle road. He don’t want to offend Markham, but he won’t try to push me either. Not yet. The only real trouble there’ll be is if some of Markham’s men’re in town.”
    They slept without cover again, but at least with full bellies and with the dawn McShannon, Owen and Sarie drove the horses south while McAllister set off north-east at a steady clip.
    *
    After a few miles, McAllister cut across the corner of the range claimed by Markham to save himself an hour’s travel, but he saw nothing of any riders except for a distant line-rider. He reached town by noon, put his horses in the livery stable for a good bait, fed himself at a restaurant better than he had done so in days, took a bath and treated himself to a shave and a haircut. Feeling a new man, he sauntered through the growing town, greeting friends here and there, not stopping for long talk with anybody and ordered his supplies at the main store. He bought a second-hand pack-saddle that still had years of wear in it and a second-hand saddle for Jack Owen. It wouldn’t suit Jack, who was fussy about his saddles, but it would have to do. Then he strolled down the street for a drink at the Imperial Hotel.
    He never got the drink.
    Standing on the sidewalk was a dumpy man with a largeginger mustache. On the lapel of his dark nicely-tailored coat was a sheriff’s badge. He looked more like a banker than a lawman. He went in for narrow-brimmed hats and low-heeled shoes. If he wore a gun, it didn’t show.
    McAllister was not deceived. He knew George Gibson and he knew his record. He could be tough and he could be smart. McAllister wondered which he was going to be now.
    â€œHowdy, Rem.”
    â€œHowdy, George.”
    â€œBusy right now?”
    â€œAimin’ to take a drink.”
    â€œBuy you one later. Come over to the office for a little talk.”
    McAllister thought about that, looking at his boot-toe. Finally, he said: “Sure, why not?”
    â€œGood.”
    Gibson led the way across the street to his office. Over it was the courtroom. The whole building was new, made of green wood like the rest of the town. It smelled of new-sawn lumber. McAllister liked it.
    When they got inside, he saw that the place was empty. Gibson waved a hand toward a chair and seated himself behind his desk. He leaned back, puffed a little as if the walk in the sun had been too much for a man of his weight, took a cigar from his vest pocket and lit it. When he had it going to his satisfaction, he said: “We’ve known each other a good many years, Rem.”
    â€œMust be all of ten.”
    Eyebrows raised. “As long as that? Whatya know? Time flies and waits for no man. An’ times’re changin’, Rem. Things ain’t what they were.”
    â€œYou’re right there.”
    â€œAn’ men and their ways have changed too, Rem. The old wild days when a man could take the law into his own hands, for instance, have gone an’ they will never return. An’ you know why they won’t never return, Rem?”
    â€œNo, George, but you’re goin’ to tell me.”
    â€œI sure am. They won’t never return because of men like me.”
    â€œI’m sure you’re right,” McAllister agreed pleasantly. “You’re doin’ a fine job and nobody knows it better’n me.”
    â€œGlad you think so.”
    The door opened and two men came in. They lookedblankly at McAllister and sat themselves on chairs against the wall on