'Thanks, Otis.' Finn frowned thoughtfully. 'I reckoned something like that was comin'. Who was with him?'
'Big man named Leibman. Used to be a sort of a bruiser on the docks in New York. Lettie doesn't take, to him.'
'She's a good judge of men.' Finn hitched up his gun belts. 'Reckon I'll trail out of town, Otis. Thanks again.'.'
At Lettie's he might have a run-in with some of the bunch from Rawhide, and he was not a trouble hunter. He knew what he was when aroused, and knew what could happen in this country. Scouting the hills as he always did, he had a very good idea of just what was going on. There was time for one drink, then he was heading out. He turned and walked into the Longhorn.
Red Eason was behind the bar himself this morning. He looked up as Mahone entered, and Finn noticed the change in his eyes.
'Rye,' Finn said. He waited, his hands on the bar while the drink was poured. He was conscious of low voices in the back of the saloon and glanced up. Two men were sitting there at one of the card tables. One was a slender man of middle age with a lean, high-boned face. He was unshaven, and his eyes were watchful. The other was a big man, even bigger than Mahone was himself. The man's face was wide and flat, and his nose had been broken.
The big man got up from the table and walked toward him. At that moment the outer door opened and Dean Armstrong came in with Doc Finerty and Judge Collins. They halted as they saw the big man walking toward Mahone.
Armstrong's quick eyes shifted to Banty Hull. The small man was seated in a chair half behind the corner of the bar. If Mahone turned to face the big man who Armstrong knew to be named Leibman, his back would be toward Hull. Dean Armstrong rarely carried a gun, but he was glad he was packing one this morning.
Leibman stopped a few feet away from Mahone. 'You Finn Mahone?' he demanded. 'From back in the Highbinders?'
Mahone looked up. 'That's my name. That's where I live.' He saw that the other man had shifted until he was against the wall and Leibman was no longer between them.
'Hear you got a lot of cattle back in them hills,' Leibman said. 'Hear you been selling stock over to Rico.'
'That's right.'
'Funny thing, you havin' so many cows an' nobody knowin' about it.'
'Not very funny. I don't recall that anybody from Laird has ever been back to see me. It's a pretty rough trail. You haven't been back there, either.'
'No, but I been to Rico. I seen some of them cows you sold.'
'Nice stock,' Mahone said calmly. He knew what was coming, but Leibman wasn't wearing a gun.
'Some funny brands,' Leibman said. 'Looked like some of them had been altered.'
'Leibman,' Finn said quietly, 'you came over here hunting' trouble. You'd know if you saw any of those cattle that none of them had but one brand. You know nobody else has seen them, so you think you can get away with an accusation and cover it up by trouble with me.
'You want trouble? All right, you've got it. If you say there was an altered brand on any of those cattle, you're a liar!'
Leibman sneered. 'I ain't wearin' a gun!' he said. 'Talk's cheap.'
'Not with me, it isn't,' Mahone said. 'With me talk is right expensive. But I don't aim to mess up Brother Ea- son's bar, here. Nor do I aim to let your pal Alcorn slug me from behind or take a shot at me.
'So what we're going to do, you and me, is go outside in the street. You don't have a gun, so you can use your hands.'
Without further hesitation he turned and walked into the street. 'Judge,' he said to Collins, 'I'd admire if you'd sort of keep an eye on my back. Here's my guns.' He unbuckled his belts and passed them to the judge. , Alcorn and Banty Hull, watched by Doc Finerty and Armstrong, looked uneasily at each other as they moved into the street. Mahone noticed the glance. This wasn't going the way they had planned.
Leibman backed off and pulled off his shirt, displaying a hairy and powerfully muscled chest and shoulders.
Remy Kastelle came out of the Emporium and, noticing the crowd, was starting across the street when Pierce Logan walked up to her.
He was a tall man, perfectly dressed, suave and intelligent. 'How do you do, Miss Kastelle!' he said, smiling.
She nodded up the street. 'What's going on up there?'
Logan turned quickly, and his face tightened. 'Looks like a fight starting,' he said. 'That's Leibman, but who can be fighting him?'
Then he saw Mahone. 'It's that fellow from the Highbinders, Mahone.'
'The one they're calling a rustler?' Remy turned quickly. She failed to note the momentary, pleased response to her reference to Mahone as a rustler. Her eyes quickened with interest. 'He tricked me. I hope he takes a good beating!'
'He will!' Logan said dryly. 'Leibman is a powerful brute. A rough-and-tumble fighter from the East.'
'I'm not so sure.' Texas Dowd had walked up behind them. He was looking past them gravely. 'I think your man Leibman is in for a whipping.'
Logan laughed, but glanced sharply at Dowd. He had never liked the Lazy K foreman. He had always had an unpleasant feeling that the tall, cold cattleman saw too much, and saw it too clearly. There was also a sound to Dowd's voice, something in his way of talking that caught in Logan's mind. Stirred memories of ... someone.
'Wouldn't want to bet, would you?' Logan asked.
'Yes, I'll bet.'
Remy glanced around, surprised and puzzled. 'Why, Mr. Dowd! I would never have imagined you to be a gambling man.'
'I'm not,' Dowd said.
'You think it's a sure thing, then?' Logan asked, incredulously.
'Yes,' Dowd replied.
'Well, I think you're wrong for a hundred dollars,'
Logan said.
'All right.' Dowd looked at Remy. 'I'll be inside, buying what we need, Miss Remy.'
'Aren't you even going to watch it?' Logan demanded.
'No,' Dowd said. 'I've seen it before.' He turned and walked into the store.
'Well!' Logan looked at Remy, astonished. 'That foreman of yours is a peculiar man.'
'Yes.' She looked after Dowd, disturbed. 'He sounded like he had known something of Mahone before. Now let's go!'
'You aren't going to watch it?' Pierce Logan was shocked in spite of himself.
'Of course! I wouldn't miss it for the world!'
Finn Mahone knew fighters of Leibman's type. The man had won many fights. He had expected Mahone to avoid the issue, but Mahone's calm acceptance and his complete lack of excitement were disturbing the bigger man. Mahone pulled off his shirt.
Leibman's face hardened suddenly. If ever he had looked at a trained athlete's body, he was looking at it now. With a faint stir of doubt he realized he was facing no common puncher, no backwoods brawler. Then his confidence came back. He had never been whipped, never ...
He went in with a rush, half expecting Mahone to be the boxer type who might try to evade him. Finn Mahone had no intention of evading anything. As Leibman rushed, he took one step in and smashed Leibman's lips into pulp with a straight left. Then he ducked and threw a right to the body.
Stopped in his tracks, Leibman's eyes narrowed. He feinted and clubbed Mahone with a ponderous right. Mahone took it and never even wavered, then he leaped in, punching with both hands!
Slugging madly, neither man giving ground, they stood spraddle-legged in the dust punching with all their power. Leibman gave ground first, but it was to draw Finn on, and when Mahone rushed, Leibman caught him with a flying mare and threw him over his back!
