mean, Morton? Maybe
there's more in the parade than just the fame of it."

Morton snapped his big jaw as if to shut in impulsive words.

"Look here, Morton. I'm not so young in years even if I am young west of
the Pecos. I can figure ahead. It stands to reason, no matter how damn
strong these rustlers are, how hidden their work, however involved with
supposedly honest men--they can't last."

"They come with the pioneers an' they'll last as long as thar's a single
steer left," he declared.

"Well, if you take that view of circumstances I just figure you as one
of the rustlers!"

Morton looked as if he were about to brain me with the butt of his whip.
His anger flashed by then as unworthy of him, and, something striking
him as funny, he boomed out a laugh.

"It's not so funny," I went on. "If you're going to pretend a yellow
streak, what else will I think?"

"Pretend?" he repeated.

"Sure. You can't fool me, Morton. I know men of nerve. And here in Pecos
they're not any different from those in other places. I say if you show
anything like a lack of sand it's all bluff.

"By nature you've got nerve. There are a lot of men round Linrock who're
afraid of their shadows, afraid to be out after dark, afraid to open
their mouths. But you're not one.

"So, I say, if you claim these rustlers will last, you're pretending
lack of nerve just to help the popular idea along. For they can't last.

"Morton, I don't want to be a hard-riding cowboy all my days. Do you
think I'd let fear of a gang of rustlers stop me from going in business
with a rancher? Nit! What you need out here in Pecos is some new
blood--a few youngsters like me to get you old guys started. Savvy what
I mean?"

"Wal, I reckon I do," he replied, looking as if a storm had blown over
him.

I gauged the hold the rustler gang had on Linrock by the difficult job
it was to stir this really courageous old cattleman. He had grown up
with the evil. To him it must have been a necessary one, the same as dry
seasons and cyclones.

"Russ, I'll look you up the next time I come to town," he said soberly.

We parted, and I, more than content with the meeting, retraced my steps
down street to the Hope So saloon.

Here I entered, bent on tasks as sincere as the ones just finished, but
displeasing, because I had to mix with a low, profane set, to cultivate
them, to drink occasionally despite my deftness at emptying glasses on
the floor, to gamble with them and stran