e to cut your herd for my brand."

That was the law of the cattle-trails; every man had the right to seek
out his strays in the country through which he had passed. But it was
not the custom along the Pecos. In that Land Beyond the Law the rule
of might transcended any rule of action printed in the statute-books.
And the new possessors did not fancy giving up the beeves which had
been fattening on their ranges during all these weeks. In those lonely
hills John Slaughter made a lonely figure, standing on his rights.

But those who gathered around him when he made the declaration always
noticed that he had his right hand resting on his pistol-butt and the
memory of what had taken place at Chisum's ranch was still fresh in
every mind. So they allowed his vaqueros to ride into their herds and
in silence they watched them drive out the animals which bore his
brand. Sometimes the affair came to an issue at this point.

Chisum, who was an old-timer in the country and had fought Comanches
all along the river before others had dared to drive up the trail,
produced a bill of sale for sixty rebranded cattle which the Texan's
vaqueros had cut out. John Slaughter allowed his tight lips to relax
in a grim smile.

"You bought 'em all right--but too cheap," he said, and ordered his
foreman to take them away.

Chisum stormed a bit, but that was as far as it went. And John
Slaughter rode off behind his vaqueros without so much as looking
back.

At Underwood's there was trouble. The cattle-buyer had recovered 110
steers from a bunch of 160, and when Underwood heard about it that
evening he stated, in plain and profane terms, that he would kill John
Slaughter unless those beeves were turned back to him. He had a
reputation as a dead shot and he took two friends, who were known as
good gunmen, along with him. They set forth for the Texan's camp. All
three were armed with rifles beside their six-shooters.

But John Slaughter saw them coming, for he was keeping his eyes open
for visitors these days, and dismounted on the opposite side of his
pony. He received them with his Winchester leveled across his saddle
and he answered their hail without lifting his eyes from the sights.

"Where's Underwood?" he demanded.

The cow-man announced his identity; it took more than the muzzle of a
rifle to silence him.

"I bought those cattle and I paid for them," he shouted.

"And I'll pay you," Slaughter proclaimed across his sights, "just as