"What then? What'd make them fight?"

"A leader!"

I went out of Hoden's with that word ringing in my ears. A leader! In my
mind's eye I saw a horde of dark faced, dusty-booted cattlemen riding
grim and armed behind Vaughn Steele.

More thoughtful than usual, I walked on, passing some of my old haunts,
and was about to turn in front of a feed and grain store when a hearty
slap on my back disturbed my reflection.

"Howdy thar, cowboy," boomed a big voice.

It was Morton, the rancher whom Jim had mentioned, and whose
acquaintance I had made. He was a man of great bulk, with a ruddy,
merry face.

"Hello, Morton. Let's have a drink," I replied.

"Gotta rustle home," he said. "Young feller, I've a ranch to work."

"Sell it to me, Morton."

He laughed and said he wished he could. His buckboard stood at the rail,
the horses stamping impatiently.

"Cards must be runnin' lucky," he went on, with another hearty laugh.

"Can't kick on the luck. But I'm afraid it will change. Morton, my