sure as you try to take them away."

This was about all there was to the debate. The Texan was never strong
when it came to conversation and the other party seemed to realize
that further words would merely amount to so much small talk under the
circumstances. It was a show-down--shoot or ride away. And the muzzle
of that rifle had an unpleasant way of following any one of the trio
who made a move in the saddle. They were men of parts, seasoned
fighters in a fighting land, but they were men of sense. They rode
away.

Some miles farther down the river John Slaughter was biding the
arrival of two half-breeds and a pair of rustlers who had announced
their intention to get him, when a vaquero whom he had summoned to
help him receive the guests showed symptoms of reluctance. While the
vaquero was talking the invaders came into view, riding fast.

"Fight or hit the road," John Slaughter bade his swarthy aide.

The latter announced his choice in Spanish; and the cattle-buyer paid
him off with one hand while he pulled his rifle from its sheath with
the other. The discharged vaquero did not wait to gather his scanty
personal possessions and started down the road as fast as his legs
could take him, but before he was out of sight his former employer had
fortified himself behind his pony and brought the rustlers to a
stand.

A cattleman by the name of Richardson tried swearing out a warrant as
a means of recovering the beeves which John Slaughter cut out of his
herds, but the deputy returned with the paper unserved.

"He told me to keep it in my pocket," the officer explained. "Said I
couldn't serve it."

Richardson met the cattle-buyer riding to his ranch the next day,
having heard in the meantime some stories of what had taken place
farther up the river.

"I've made up my mind to withdraw that complaint," the ranchman said.
"I saw a chance to buy cheap cattle and I guess I got off wrong."

So John Slaughter rode on southward taking with him such of his cattle
as he could find, and men who boasted that they would kill him before
nightfall came back to their companions in the evening, glad that they
were there to tell the tales of their defeats. Finally he vanished
down in Texas with his vaqueros and the salvaged herd.

When he had come up the river that spring one man was seeking his
life; now he left behind him a full score who were as eager to slay
him as the Man from Bitter Creek had been. But the outlaws of Lincoln