The sheriff looked at him for a moment. Then he looked at the others. "Let's get one thing straight here. John Sager's an important man hereabouts, and I don't deny it. He needs good gunslingers to guard his property, and I'm only too glad to deputize 'em. But, by the Almighty, if a man don't behave himself, if he ain't to be trusted with a gun, then he ain't goin' to wear a badge as long as I'm sheriff."
He turned to Brek. "I got to uphold the law, son. I asked you to turn them guns in and you wouldn't do it. I'm damned if I'm goin' to' try to take 'em away, so there's only one thing to do." He handed Brek the star that he had taken from Cactus. "Hold up your right hand," he said.
Half an hour later, Brek found himself sitting at a table, drinking beer and talking with the sheriff and a man named Chuck. He'd answered questions about his past with the purely fictitious data that he'd received from the hypnorobot, but all the time his mind had been on the man who was "an important man hereabouts"—John Sager.
Sager. Sagginer. It could be the same man.
"By the way, Sheriff—who is John Sager?"
"Owns the bank," the sheriff said. "Got property up on Chloride Flats, too. That's the silver mine district, you know. Bought out a couple of men who was failin' in business and then put 'em to work managin' their own stores for him. People around here have a right smart respect for him."
"Friendly sort of fella, eh?"
"Well, I wouldn't go so far as to say that. He treats people well, gives money to the church and the school, gives a man a job if he's down and out, but I wouldn't say he was a likeable man personally."
"He's odd," said Chuck. "A real queer one. Maybe I shouldn't say it because I work for him, and he's done real proper by me, but—well, he's a funny one."