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 sure as you try to take them away.”
This was about all there was to the debate. The Texan was never strong when it came to conversation and the other party seemed to realize that further words would merely amount to so much small talk under the circumstances. It was a show-down––shoot or ride away. And the muzzle of that rifle had an unpleasant way of following any one of the trio who 170 made a move in the saddle. They were men of parts, seasoned fighters in a fighting land, but they were men of sense. They rode away.
Some miles farther down the river John Slaughter was biding the arrival of two half-breeds and a pair of rustlers who had announced their intention to get him, when a vaquero whom he had summoned to help him receive the guests showed symptoms of reluctance. While the vaquero was talking the invaders came into view, riding fast.
“Fight or hit the road,” John Slaughter bade his swarthy aide.
The latter announced his choice in Spanish; and the cattle-buyer paid him off with one hand while he pulled his rifle from its sheath with the other. The discharged vaquero did not wait to gather his scanty personal possessions and started down the road as fast as his legs could take him, but before he was out of sight his former employer had fortified himself behind his pony and brought the rustlers to a stand.