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prod against Brent because he ran in sheep and is a newcomer?”
    “Guess that’s about it,” the sheriff conceded. “But that’s enough to stir up real trouble between them and always liable to suck others into the row, on one side or the other.”
    “I think,” Slade said, “that I have slowed that one up to an extent; I practically secured a promise from Fletcher and his hands not to start anything with Brent.”
    “Well, that helps,” replied Carter. “Now if you can just manage to get the same sort of a promise from Brent. Afraid he don’t feel over kind toward you right now, though, after you knocked a hunk of meat outa his hand.”
    “I’ve a notion he’ll cool down, after his hand stops smarting, and if he is at all fair-minded he will realize that he made a mistake in throwing down on me like he did and forced me to do what I did for my own protection.”
    “Oh, I expect he’ll figure he made a mistake, all right,” Carter agreed dryly. “He’s lucky you didn’t take him a mite more seriously or he might have made a worse mistake.”
    Slade smiled, and changed the subject. “So it looks like we have our work cut out for us,” he observed. “Well, I’ll scout around a bit and try and learn something. I am inclined to say it is not a unique situation,typical of the new lawless element invading the West; just as salty as the oldtimers but with more brains. And you have no notion as to who might be heading the organization? No suspects?”
    The sheriff shook his head. “Not a darn one I can really call a suspect,” he admitted. “That’s the worst of it. When you were here before and chasin’ your Veck Sosna, you at least knew who to look for.”
    “Yes, that was an advantage,” Slade agreed. “Well, we’ll see what we shall see.”
    “And meanwhile, keep your eyes skun and watch your step,” cautioned the sheriff. “Mighty apt to be certain hellions around who don’t care much for you, and the word El Halcon is in town will get around mighty fast.”
    “I’ll be careful,” Slade promised carelessly.
    Carter stuffed tobacco into his pipe, Slade rolled a cigarette and they sat smoking in silence, each busy with his own thoughts.
    Abruptly, Slade raised his head in an attitude of listening. His unusually keen ears had caught a sound, a tiny metallic sound that seemed to come from the front door, as if a cautious hand had touched the knob. Another moment and he heard another sound, equally tiny but different, a faint wooden creaking—such a sound as would be made by a foot pressing a slightly loose floor board. Seemed almost as if someone had approached the door, then stealthily retreated.
    Instantly “El Halcon,” sensitive to anything out of the ordinary or not immediately explainable, was in the ascendancy. Slade listened a moment more, then noiselessly rose to his feet, motioning the sheriff to stay where he was. Gliding across the room, he seized the door knob and by almost imperceptibledegrees turned it. Standing well to one side, with a quick jerk he flung the door wide open.
    There was a booming explosion. Buckshot screeched through the opening and splattered the far wall.

Chapter Two
    Slade went backward in a cat-like leap, a gun in each hand, his eyes fixed on the open door, through which drifted smoke rings. Nothing happened. He cast a swift look out the door; there was nobody in sight. Gliding forward again, he glanced up and down the street. Still nobody in sight; but there was a corner only a few yards distant. He holstered his guns and stepped out the door onto the porch.
    The sheriff was raving profanity. “What the blankety-blank blue blazes!” he stormed.
    “Looks like you were right when you said the word El Halcon is in town would get around fast. Take a look,” Slade replied.
    Sheriff Carter, gripping his gun butt, glared at the contraption roped to one of the porch posts, a sawed-off shotgun, its double muzzles trained on the door. He outdid his former