build the country. It is a fine idea, if you can make it stick."
"You're right, of course, but how about you, Levitt? Do you think you'll be able to stick it out when Pogue and Reynolds get to checking brands?"
The glass rattled in Pat's hand as he suddenly put it down on the back bar. Canavan felt a sudden harsh recklessness come up in his neck, a feeling such as he had never felt before. It was a mean, driving, ugly feeling, something this man aroused in him. But he had the play, and it was like him to push. "I've been out on the range of late and there's a lot of W's made over into Three Diamonds, and Box n's to Triple Box A's, and they are both your brands."
It was fighting talk, and Canavan knew it. He had not wanted this, not right now, but there was an urge in him that drove him on.
Levitt was standing perfectly straight, looking at him through hard, level eyes. "That's dangerous talk, Cowhand! Dangerous for you or any other common drifter. You're getting into deep water, too deep for you to swim out."
"Let me be the judge. I've waded deeper water a few times, Levitt, and where I couldn't wade, I could swim. And if I couldn't swim I'd build some land under me."
Star Levitt's tone was calm, but the anger was plain and it was obvious he was a man not accustomed to being pushed or thwarted or even talked back to.
He was a shrewd man, a planner, a conniver, but a man who liked to take his own time and do things in his own way.
In that moment Canavan learned something more about the man. For he had a temper, and when pushed he grew angry. Such a man might be pushed into hasty, uncalculated moves.
"All right." He was pushing again, pushing hard.
"The other day you spoke about a staked claim. I am curious to see how well staked that claim is. I don't think you've staked it well at all, Levitt, and I want to see what will happen if somebody nudges those stakes a bit.
"You're a big man in a small puddle, Levitt, but you're not making the splash you think you are. Now you know where I stand, and we needn't talk in circles anymore. I am ready, Star. Are you?"
Before Star Levitt could reply, a new voice broke in. "Stand aside, Star, and let me have him!"
Canavan felt the hair prickle along the back of his neck as he recognized Emmett Chubb. "I want him anyway, Star!"
Bill Canavan had not bargained for this. One of them, yes, but now he faced two of the deadliest gunmen in the west, and he was alone. Cold and still he waited, the air so tense he could hear the hoarse, frightened breathing of the bartender.
So still it was that all could hear Mabry's voice, low as it was. "If they want it, Canavan, I'll take Levitt for you. He's right under my gun."
Levitt's eyes did not waver. Canavan glimpsed the quick speculation in the man's eyes, the cool realization that the situation offered nothing for any of them. It was two and two, but Mabry's position outside the window clearly commanded the situation as he was behind both Levitt and Chubb.
It was Pat who broke the stalemate. "Nobody does any shootin' here unless it's me!" he said harshly.
"Mabry, you stand where you are. Chubb, you take your hand away from that gun and walk right out the door, face-first. Levitt, you follow him. I ain't puttin' fresh sawdust on this floor again today. Not for nobody, I ain't!"
His command was reinforced by the twin barrels of a shotgun over the bar's edge, and nobody wanted to argue with a shotgun at that distance.
Chubb did not hesitate. He was too much the professional to like such a situation, so he turned on his heel and walked out without a word of protest.
Levitt held his ground a moment longer. "You talk a good fight, Canavan. We'll have to see what you're holding."
"I'll help you check brands at the roundup,"
Canavan said dryly.
Levitt walked out and Mabry put a foot over the sill and stepped inside. He was grinning. "Is that job still open?"
Canavan chuckled grimly. "Mabry, you've been workin' for me for the last three
"You're right, of course, but how about you, Levitt? Do you think you'll be able to stick it out when Pogue and Reynolds get to checking brands?"
The glass rattled in Pat's hand as he suddenly put it down on the back bar. Canavan felt a sudden harsh recklessness come up in his neck, a feeling such as he had never felt before. It was a mean, driving, ugly feeling, something this man aroused in him. But he had the play, and it was like him to push. "I've been out on the range of late and there's a lot of W's made over into Three Diamonds, and Box n's to Triple Box A's, and they are both your brands."
It was fighting talk, and Canavan knew it. He had not wanted this, not right now, but there was an urge in him that drove him on.
Levitt was standing perfectly straight, looking at him through hard, level eyes. "That's dangerous talk, Cowhand! Dangerous for you or any other common drifter. You're getting into deep water, too deep for you to swim out."
"Let me be the judge. I've waded deeper water a few times, Levitt, and where I couldn't wade, I could swim. And if I couldn't swim I'd build some land under me."
Star Levitt's tone was calm, but the anger was plain and it was obvious he was a man not accustomed to being pushed or thwarted or even talked back to.
He was a shrewd man, a planner, a conniver, but a man who liked to take his own time and do things in his own way.
In that moment Canavan learned something more about the man. For he had a temper, and when pushed he grew angry. Such a man might be pushed into hasty, uncalculated moves.
"All right." He was pushing again, pushing hard.
"The other day you spoke about a staked claim. I am curious to see how well staked that claim is. I don't think you've staked it well at all, Levitt, and I want to see what will happen if somebody nudges those stakes a bit.
"You're a big man in a small puddle, Levitt, but you're not making the splash you think you are. Now you know where I stand, and we needn't talk in circles anymore. I am ready, Star. Are you?"
Before Star Levitt could reply, a new voice broke in. "Stand aside, Star, and let me have him!"
Canavan felt the hair prickle along the back of his neck as he recognized Emmett Chubb. "I want him anyway, Star!"
Bill Canavan had not bargained for this. One of them, yes, but now he faced two of the deadliest gunmen in the west, and he was alone. Cold and still he waited, the air so tense he could hear the hoarse, frightened breathing of the bartender.
So still it was that all could hear Mabry's voice, low as it was. "If they want it, Canavan, I'll take Levitt for you. He's right under my gun."
Levitt's eyes did not waver. Canavan glimpsed the quick speculation in the man's eyes, the cool realization that the situation offered nothing for any of them. It was two and two, but Mabry's position outside the window clearly commanded the situation as he was behind both Levitt and Chubb.
It was Pat who broke the stalemate. "Nobody does any shootin' here unless it's me!" he said harshly.
"Mabry, you stand where you are. Chubb, you take your hand away from that gun and walk right out the door, face-first. Levitt, you follow him. I ain't puttin' fresh sawdust on this floor again today. Not for nobody, I ain't!"
His command was reinforced by the twin barrels of a shotgun over the bar's edge, and nobody wanted to argue with a shotgun at that distance.
Chubb did not hesitate. He was too much the professional to like such a situation, so he turned on his heel and walked out without a word of protest.
Levitt held his ground a moment longer. "You talk a good fight, Canavan. We'll have to see what you're holding."
"I'll help you check brands at the roundup,"
Canavan said dryly.
Levitt walked out and Mabry put a foot over the sill and stepped inside. He was grinning. "Is that job still open?"
Canavan chuckled grimly. "Mabry, you've been workin' for me for the last three
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