“So he says in the letter. You’re Ned Houston?”
“Yeah. Got in a short time ago and stabled my pony. Somebody took a shot at me as I was comin’ along the street. I can’t make that out. Nobody here knows me, or why I came.”
“I’ll explain the situation,” Brandell said.
“Waste of time,” Houston said. “I know the gist of it, and that’s enough.”
“The man you handled outside is a Three S man, named Ed Foster,” Clara Brandell put in. “Two more are across the street. Some of them watch the post all the time. This trouble—it’s serious. If you try to help us, you’ll be in danger.”
“Fine!” Houston said. He fumbled beneath his shirt, opened a money-belt, and from it took a document and a bank draft. “Jim Penroy figgered everything out, Mr. Brandell. Here’s a partnership paper you can finish fillin’ out and sign, and here’s a draft for two thousand dollars. The idea is that I buy a share in this tradin’ post, under my own name and usin’ Jim Penroy’s money.”
“Why should Dad sell you a share?” Clara asked.
“It’s simple, when you think it out,” Houston told her. “A man has a right to protect his own property.”
Brandell’s eyes glowed. “That’s it!” he said. “It would make everything legal. I’ll fill in this agreement right away, Mr. Houston.”
“The name’s Ned—to both of you. Open a small can of paint and get me a brush. I’ll change the sign to read “Brandell and Houston” soon as I get around to it. And over in the saloon, I’ll announce that I’ve bought in as your pardner. Then there can’t be any mistake.”
“You’ll walk into danger if you go to the saloon,” Clara said. “When Jarles learns you’re a partner here—”
“I reckon you don’t read much, Houston broke in. “You don’t seem to know any word except ‘danger’.”
“Is that so!” she flared. “Let me tell you—”
“Spunky, huh?” Houston said. “That’s fine. Clara, we’re goin’ to get along. Of course, Mr. Brandell, you understand you can call the pardnership off if you want as soon as this trouble is over—simply hand back the draft and tear up the agreement.”
Houston turned toward the door.
“Where are you going now?” Clara asked.
“To the saloon. The stableman said I could get a meal there.”
“Clara will cook you somethin’,” Brandell said.
“But I want to go to the saloon. I aim to learn who shot at me, and why, and get acquainted with my enemies. I’ll sleep in the stable tonight, and be here bright and early in the mornin’, Early, anyhow. Then we can make plans. Oh, yeah! I’ll be back later to paint that sign. You have the paint and brush ready, and a ladder.”
* * * *
As Houston strode across the street, two men who had been standing in front of the saloon dodged into it. One was Ed Foster, the man Houston had handled at the store door.
Puffing on the cigarette he had made, Houston entered the saloon and stopped at the head of the bar. A man was behind the bar, Ed Foster was with a couple of others in the rear, a gambler played with a deck of cards at one table in a corner, and three men of the town were sitting at another table with drinks in front of them.
The man behind the bar looked at Houston questioningly.
“Mr. Dawes, at the stable, said I might get a good meal here,” the Texan said. “I’m hungry enough to tackle one.”
“I’ll have the women get you somethin’,” the man behind the bar said. “Want some red-eye?”
“Not now, thanks,” Houston told him. “I’ll wait for the grub.”
He strolled the length of the room. Ed Foster and the two other Three S men eyed him venomously. The townsmen glanced at him once, then continued their conversation. The professional gambler had an expression of hope in his face.
“You don’t seem to be busy,” Houston said.
“Not so busy,” the gambler replied. “Have a chair and try your luck. My name’s Gadley, commonly known as ‘Silky’ because once I owned a silk shirt. That wasn’t in Vista. That was in a town where men risked a dollar now and then.”
“Deal a little two-handed stud,” Houston said, bringing forth some money. “My name’s Houston. just got in from Texas. Got a little business to ’tend to here.”
They began playing stud in a listless manner. Houston glanced at the Three S men frequently as they stood at the bar in whispered conversation, and Silky Gadley watched Houston. The gambler was a tall, thin, middle-aged man fastidiously dressed, and had the icy manner peculiar to his kind.
Somebody shot at me before I’d been in town fifteen minutes,” Houston said, so the others in the room could hear. “I can’t guess at the meanin’ of it. I’m a stranger here, and never had a ruckus with any of the citizens, far as I know.”
“Mebbe it was a mistake,” Gadley said.
“If it was, it’d better not be repeated,” Houston replied. “It makes me mad to be shot at.”
The three cowboys at the bar left it and started walking slowly toward the table, Ed Foster in the middle. Houston reached down and shifted his holster, then went on playing stud. The Three S men stopped a few feet from the table and looked at him. Ed Foster did the talking.
“Stranger, you got a little rough with me across the street, and I was for fillin’ you full of lead. But these cowhand friends of mine talked me out of it.”
“You’re right, they’re your friends,” Houston said. “They probably saved your life for you.”
“Bein’ a stranger, and not knowin’ the situation here, no doubt it did make you mad for me to try to keep you from goin’ into the tradin’ post. So the boys told me to overlook it and explain everything.”
“You’re wise to overlook it,” Houston told him. “But mebbe I’d better do the explainin’. I’m a stranger, all right, but I know the situation. I heard all about it.”
“Then we’ll give you fair warnin’. Sid Jarles don’t want anybody to trade with Brandell.”
“He’ll have to tell me that hisself, and even then it won’t do any good.”
“You think yu’re bigger than Jarles and the whole Three S outfit?” Ed Foster asked angrily. “Think you can ride into this town and do as you please?”
“I can go into the tradin’ post any time I want, at least,” Houston said. “Nobody’s got a better right.”
“A better right? What you mean by that?”
“I own an interest in the tradin’ post. I just closed the deal—bought an interest from Brandell.”
“Brandell’s made a fool out of you then, and you’ve bought only a mess of trouble.”
“Nobody’s made a fool out of me. I bought the interest after I knew all about the trouble. And you can take word from me to Sid Jarles that I won’t stand for any of his interference. If he don’t want to trade at the post, that’s his business. But he won’t scare other folks away.”
“Oh, he won’t?”
“That’s right, he won’t! You take that word to him. If he wants to argue with me about it any, he’ll find me here in town in the mornin’. I’ve got money tied up in that tradin’ post now, and no ranch owner with a grouch ’cause a girl wouldn’t look