“I understand Jarles turned agin’ your father ’cause you refused to marry him.”
“He’s a beast,” Clara said. “He’s about the last man in the world I’d ever marry.”
“Who’s the first?”
“There hasn’t been any, so far,” she said.
“You go back and talk to your father,” Houston said. “Keep him company—and stay where you won’t be hurt.”
He motioned toward the window with his head. Clara looked across the street and saw Sid Jarles and his Three S men coming out of the saloon.
“I think it’s time for the showdown,” Houston said.
Chapter IV
Battle Smoke
The Three S men remained grouped at the edge of the walk across the street.
“Dawes!” Sid Jarles called. “I want to talk to you.”
“I’m listenin’,” Dawes gruffly replied.
“I’ve been told what happened. None of the Three S men had anything to do with burnin’ your stable. I know how it looks, but I’m tellin’ you the truth. I may fight when it’s necessary, but I wouldn’t burn a hoss.”
“Somebody burned me out and fastened the doors so’s I almost burned, too. If none of your men did it, who did? I ain’t got any enemies in town, as I know of.”
“You had another man sleepin’ in your stable last night,” Sid Jarles reminded him. “Whoever set the fire was prob’ly tryin’ to get him, not you.”
“Only a skunk’d try to get a man that way,” Dawes growled. “Show me who did it. Then I’ll believe none of your men did.”
“You’re talkin’ pretty high, seems to me,” Jarles called. “I’ve told you none of my men did it. If I learn who did, I’ll let you know. And you keep out of Brandell’s place! I don’t want folks to trade there.”
Before Dawes could answer that, Houston stepped out of the store and stood with his fists planted against his hips, looking across the street at the Three S men.
“Who are you to tell folks not to trade here?” Houston shouted. “I own an interest in this place, and I don’t intend to let you or any other man try to wreck my business! Don’t let me hear any more of that kind of talk!”
Sid Jarles turned purple with wrath.
“So you’re this man Houston, are you?” he shouted. “As far as you ownin’ an interest—that’s only a trick of Brandell’s. You don’t look like you own anything except your pony, and mebbe you haven’t got a bill of sale for him.”
“I can show you a pardnership agreement for my share in this tradin’ post,” Houston replied. “I’m a pardner, all right. Paid for the interest, too. Mr. Brandell can show you the draft. Only it’s none of your business.”
“Mebbe I’ll make it some of my business!” Jarles raged. “Mebbe you’ll bear lookin’ into, too.”
“Oh, I can tell you about myself. I come from Texas to ’tend to a certain matter—”
Out of the saloon rushed Sam Finch. His eyes were ablaze, and he looked as if he had been drinking heavily. He thrust some of the Three S men aside and rushed to the middle of the street.
“I know why you come!” he yelled. “Lawman, are you! After me, are you? You won’t take me! I’ve been watchin’ ever since I come here. I saw you ride in last evenin’, and heard you tell Dawes you come from Texas. I knew you was after me! But you’ll never take me back!”
“I reckon you’re loco,” Houston said.
“You ain’t foolin’ me any! I shot at you last night, and missed. I set fire to the barn, too, but you got away. But you won’t dodge this!”
Sam Finch jerked a gun from beneath his coat and opened fire.
The first bullet sang past Houston’s head and smashed against the corner of the trading post wall. The second went wild as Sam Finch lurched forward. Houston fired the third shot, and it knocked Finch off his feet. He sprawled in the dust.
“He must have been loco,” Houston said. “I never saw or heard of him till I came to Vista. Case of guilty conscience, I reckon. Some of you look to him.”
Ed Foster and another man hurried out into the street and lifted Sam Finch out of the dust. They carried him to the walk in front of the saloon and stretched him there. Sid Jarles knelt beside him a moment, then stood up.
“He’s finished,” Jarles said. “He muttered somethin’ about helpin’ rob a bank and shootin’ a cashier over in Texas two years ago. So now we know who shot at Houston and who burned the stable, and why. Are you satisfied, Dawes?”
“I’m satisfied that you didn’t have my stable burned,” Dawes said.
“Then stand aside, ’cause we’ve got another matter to settle.”
Sid Jarles stepped down off the walk. Jake Walters and the five Three S men lined up a few feet behind him. They started marching across the street, Jarles stopped as he reached the other side, and his men scattered a little and bunched with hands on holsters.
“Houston, if Brandell unloaded a pardnership on you—” Jarles began.
“Let me make it short for you,” Houston broke in. “He didn’t unload it on me. I knew all about this little fuss before I bought.”
“All right! In that case, here’s what I’ve got to say—I’m goin’ to put the Brandell Tradin’ Post out of business. I was aimin’ to set up Sam Finch, but now I’ll find some other man. I’m goin’ to keep everybody from tradin’ a dime’s worth with you.”
“All this ’cause a girl couldn’t see you, huh?” Houston asked.
“My reasons are my own, and I don’t want any of your lip!”
“Jarles, I don’t think much of a man who uses his might to fight another in a sneakin’ way,” Houston said. “Brandell is a sick man. A sick man and a girl—that’s who you’ve been fightin’. But I’m with ’em now.”
“As if that made any difference,” Jarles sneered.
“It makes the devil of a lot of difference. Now, Jarles, you listen to me. Don’t you ever let me hear of you orderin’ folks to stay away from this tradin’ post! You ’tend to your ranch. You ain’t runnin’ this town any more.”
“Oh, I ain’t?”
Jake Walters lurched forward.
“Stranger, you make too much big talk,” he said. “You can’t talk like that to my boss when I’m around.”
“Takin’ the fight up, are you?” Houston asked. “Who’re you?”
“Jake Walters is the name.”
“Oh, yeah! I’ve been told about you. Think you’re a bold, bad lead-slinger, huh? Mr. Walters, I don’t like you. I think this part of the country’d be better off without you. Mebbe you’d better ride.”
“Why, you—”
Jake Walters crouched suddenly, and he did what Houston had been warned he would do—he squinted. Houston sprang down off the walk and into the street as his hand streaked to his holster, and his gun cleared leather again.
Jake Walters’ first shot missed as Houston jumped off the walk. Houston’s first burned across Walters’ arm, and his second struck in the chest and sent Jake Walters reeling backward, to drop and die.
But not before