His herds, the Diamond R brand, roamed the many hills. While his ranches were all designated by their original brand names, all the stock was branded with the Diamond R. Other ranches shipped from Tomahawk, but the Diamond R was the heavy shipper. They owned the loading corrals—or rather Reber did.
Park Reber did not come often to the Tomahawk Saloon, but he had been coming oftener of late. Some said it was because of June Meline, the tall, black-haired beauty who played the violin. She was not a fiddler. There seemed a difference between June Meline and the rest of the girls of the honkatonk. Her white skin was untouched by rouge or paint and there was an imperious lift to her well shaped head. Nor did she mix with the others.
Park Reber loved music and most of all he loved the wailing notes of her violin. Often she had come to his table to talk with him. She refused drinks, but liked to discuss with him his business troubles. Some said she was trying to “rope-in” the old man, but Park Reber knew better. He admired her level-headed way of looking at things.
And on this pay night Park Reber came again, taking his usual table, where he might drink and watch the show. With him was “Slim” Patterson, foreman of the Half-Wheel ranch. Their table was near the platform, where the three-piece orchestra rattled out its tin-panny music.
The show was just at its height as they sat down. There was a burst of applause as June Meline came out carrying her violin. She was dressed in black silk, which accentuated the pallor of her skin. Only the piano played her accompaniment, and as she lifted her violin the pianist hesitated.
Some one had spoken a word aloud—the name of a man.
“‘Buck’ Priest!”
And there he stood, not more than six feet away from Park Reber, backed by two of his men. It was the first time Buck Priest had ever been in the Tomahawk Saloon. He was as old as Park Reber, possibly older. He wore his hair long, but his thin, evil face, with the hawk-bill nose, was smooth-shaven. He wore a silver-trimmed sombrero, buckskin shirt, gray trousers tucked in the tops of his high-heeled boots, and around his waist was a wide, beautifully carved leather cartridge belt supporting a holstered Colt.
The men with him were hard-bitted cowboys—fighting men of the S\ Bar\ P. It took nerve for Buck Priest to lead his men in among the cowboys of the Diamond R. But Buck Priest had nerve. He had fought Park Reber until Reber had told his men to leave the S\ Bar\ P alone.
At one time—over twenty years ago—these two men had been comrades.