“Howdy, Hardin,” Tack said, “I was hopin’ yuh’d come.”

Van Hardin said nothing. His powerful shoulders filled the open door, his eyes were set, and the shock was fading from them now.

“Got a few things to tell yuh, Hardin,” Tack continued gently, “before yuh go out of this feet first I want yuh to know what a sucker yuh’ve been.”

“A sucker I’ve been?” Hardin laughed. “What chance have yuh got? The street down there is full of my men. Yuh’ve friends there, too, but they lack leadership, they don’t know what to do. My men have their orders. And then, I won’t have any trouble with yuh, Gentry. Yore old friends around here told me all about yuh. Soft, like that uncle of yores.”

“Ever hear of Black Jack Paris, Hardin?”

“The gunman? Of course, but what’s he got to do with yuh?”

“Nothin’, now. He did once, up in Ellsworth, Kansas. They dug a bed for him next mornin’, Hardin. He was too slow. Yuh said I was soft? Well, maybe I was once. Maybe in spots I still am, but yuh see, since the folks around here have seen me I’ve been over the cattle trails, been doin’ some Injun fightin’ and rustler killin’. It makes a sight of change in a man, Hardin.

“That ain’t what I wanted yuh to know. I wanted yuh to know what a fool yuh were, tryin’ to steal this ranch. Yuh see, the land in our home ranch wasn’t like the rest of this land, Hardin.”

“What do you mean?” Hardin demanded suspiciously.

“Why, yuh’re the smart boy,” Tack drawled easily, “yuh should have checked before takin’ so much for granted. Yuh see, the Gentry ranch was a land grant. My grandmother, she was a Basque, see? The land came to us through her family, and the will she left was that it would belong to us as long as any of us lived, that it couldn’t be sold or traded, and in case we all died, it was to go to the State of Texas!”

Van Hardin stared. “What?” he gasped. “What kind of fool deal is this yuh’re givin’ me?”

“Fool deal is right,” Tack said quietly. “Yuh see, the State of Texas knows no Gentry would sell or trade, knowin’ we couldn’t, so if somebody else showed up with the land, they were bound to ask a sight of questions. Sooner or later they’d have got around to askin’ yuh how come.”

Hardin seemed stunned. From the street below there was a sound of horses’ hooves.

Then a voice said from Tack’s left, “Yuh better get out, Van. There’s talkin’ to be done in the street. I want Tack Gentry!” Tack’s head jerked around. It was Soderman. The short squinty eyed man was staring at him, gun in hand. He heard Hardin turn and bolt out of the room; saw resolution in Soderman’s eyes. Hurling himself toward the wall, Gentry’s hand flashed for his pistol.

A gun blasted in the room with a roar like a cannon and Gentry felt the angry whip of the bullet, and then he fired twice, low down.

Soderman fell back against the door jamb, both hands grabbing at his stomach, just below his belt buckle. “Yuh shot me!” he gasped, round eyed. “Yuh shot—me!”

“Like you did my uncle,” Tack said coolly. “Only yuh had better than an even break, and he had no break at all.”

Gentry could feel blood from the opened wound trickling down his leg. He glanced at Betty. “I’ve got to get down there,” he said, “he’s a slick talker.”

Van Hardin was standing down in the street. Beside him was Olney and nearby was Starr. Other men, a half dozen of them, loitered nearby.

Slowly, Tack Gentry began stumping down the stair. All eyes looked up. Red Furness saw him and spoke out, “Tack, these three men are Rangers come down from Austin to make some inquiries.”

Hardin pointed at Gentry. “He’s wanted for murdering Anson Childe! Also, for jail breaking, and unless I’m much mistaken he has killed another man up there in Childe’s office!”

The Ranger looked at him curiously, then one of them glanced at Hardin, “Yuh all the hombre what lays claim to the Gentry place?”

Hardin swallowed quickly, then his eyes shifted. “No, that was Soderman. The man who was upstairs.”

Hardin looked at Tack Gentry. With the Rangers here he knew his game was played out. He smiled suddenly. “Yuh’ve nothin’ on me at all, gents,” he said coolly. “Soderman killed John Gentry and laid claim to his ranch. I don’t know nothin’ about it.”

“Yuh engineered it!” Bill London burst out. “Same as yuh did the stealin’ of my ranch!”

“Yuh’ve no proof,” Hardin sneered. “Not a particle! My name is on no papers, and yuh have no evidence.”

Coolly, he strode across to his black horse and swung into the saddle. He was smiling gently, but there was sneering triumph behind the smile. “Yuh’ve nothin’ on me, not a thing!”

“Don’t let him get away!” Bill London shouted. “He’s the wust one of the whole kit and kaboodle of ’em!”

“But he’s right!” the Ranger protested. “In all the papers we’ve found, there’s not a single item to tie him up. If he’s in it, he’s been almighty smart.”

“Then arrest him for horse stealin’!” Tack Gentry said. “That’s my black horse he’s on!”

Hardin’s face went cold, then he smiled. “Why, that’s crazy! That’s foolish,” he said, “this is my horse. I reared him from a colt. Anybody could be mistaken, ’cause one black horse is like another. My brand’s on him, and yuh can all see it’s an old brand.” Tack Gentry stepped out in front of the black horse. “Button!” he said sharply. “Button!”

At the familiar voice, the black horse’s head jerked up. “Button!” Tack called. “Hut! Hut!”

As the name and the sharp command rolled out, Button reacted like an explosion of dynamite. He jumped straight up in the air and came down hard, then he sunfished wildly, and Van Hardin hit the dirt in a heap.

“Button!” Tack commanded. “Go get Blackie!”

Instantly, the horse wheeled and trotted to the hitching rail where Blackie stood ground hitched as Olney had left him. Button caught the reins in his teeth and led the other black horse back.

The Rangers grinned. “Reckon, Mister,” he said, “yuh done proved yore case. This man’s a horse thief.”

Hardin climbed to his feet, his face dark with fury. “Yuh think yuh’ll get away with that?” His hand flashed for his gun.

Tack Gentry had been watching him, and now his own hand moved down, then up. The two guns barked as one. A chip flew from the stair post beside Tack, but Van Hardin turned slowly and went to his knees in the dust.

At almost the same instant, a sharp voice rang out. “Olney! Starr!”

Olney’s face went white and he wheeled, hand flashing for his gun. “Anson Childe!” he gasped.

Childe stood on the platform in front of his room and fired once, twice, three times. Sheriff Olney went down, coughing and muttering. Starr backed through the swinging doors of the saloon and sat down hard in the sawdust.

Tack stared at him. “What the—”

The tall young lawyer came down the steps. “Fooled them, didn’t I? They tried to get me once too often. I got their man with a shotgun in the face. Then I changed clothes with him and then lit out for Austin. I came in with the Rangers, then left them on the edge of town. They told me they’d let us have it our way unless they were needed.”

“Saves the State of Texas a sight of money,” one of the Rangers drawled, “anyway, we been checkin’ on this here Hardin. On Olney, too. That’s why they wanted to keep things quiet around here. They knowed we was checkin’ on ’em.”

The Rangers moved in and with the help of a few of the townspeople rounded up Hardin’s other followers.

Tack grinned at the lawyer. “Lived up to your name, Pardner,” he said. “Yuh sure did! All yore sheep in the fold, now!”

“What do you mean! Lived up to my name?” Anson Childe looked around.

Gentry grinned. “And a little Childe shall lead them!” he said.

HIS BROTHER’S DEBT

“You’re yellow, Casady!” Ben Kerr shouted. “Yellow as saffron! You ain’t got the guts of a coyote! Draw, curse you, fill your hand so I can kill you! You ain’t fit to live!” Kerr stepped forward, his big hands spread over his gun butts. “Go ahead, reach!”