Cat McLeod was a student of mankind as well as the animals upon whom he practiced his trade. In a lifetime of living along the frontier and in the world’s far places, he had learned a lot about men who liked to live alone, and about men who sought the wilderness. If it was true that Rock wanted no trouble, it certainly was not from lack of ability to handle it.

There had been that time when Cat had fallen, stumbling to hands and knees. Right before him, not three feet from his face and much nearer his outstretched hands lay one of the biggest rattlers Cat had ever seen. The snake’s head jerked back above its coil, and then, with a gun’s roar blasting in his ears, that head was gone and the snake was a writhing mass of coils, showing only a bloody stump where the head had been!

Cat had gotten to his feet gray faced and turned. Rock Casady was thumbing a shell into his gun. The young man grinned.

“That was a close one!” he had said cheerfully.

McLeod had dusted off his hands, staring at Casady. “I’ve heard of men drawin’ faster’n a snake could strike, but that’s the first time I ever seen it!”

Since then he had seen that .44 shoot the heads off quail and he had seen a quick hip shot with the rifle break a deer’s neck.

Now his mind reverted to their former topic. “If that Vorys is tied in with some smart hombre, there’ll be hell to pay! Pete was never no great shakes for brains, but he’s tough, tough as all get out! With somebody to think for him, he’ll make this country unfit to live in!”

Later that night, McLeod looked over his shoulder from the fire. “You know,” he said, “if I was wantin’ a spread of my own, an’ didn’t care much for folks, like you, I’d go down into the Pleasant Valley Outlet, south of here. Lonely, but she’s sure grand country!”

Two days later Rock was mending a bridle when Sue Landon walked over to him. She wore jeans and a boy’s shirt, and her eyes were bright and lovely.

“Hi!” she said brightly. “You’re the new hand? You certainly keep out of the way. All this time on the ranch and I never met you before!”

He grinned shyly. “Just a quiet hombre, I reckon,” he said. “If I had it my way I’d be over there with Cat all the time.”

“Then you won’t like the job I have for you!” she said. “To ride into Three Lakes with me, riding herd on a couple of pack horses.”

“Three Lakes?” He looked up so sharply it startled her. “Into town? I never go into town, ma’am. I don’t like the place. Not any town.”

“Why, that’s silly! Anyway, there’s no one else, and Uncle Frank won’t let me go alone with Pete Vorys around.”

“He wouldn’t bother a girl, would he?”

“You sure don’t know Pete Vorys!” Sue returned grimly. “He does pretty much what he feels like and everybody’s afraid to say anything about it. Although,” she added, “with this new partner he’s got he’s toned down some. But come on—you’ll go?”

Reluctantly, he got to his feet. She looked at him curiously, not a little piqued. Any other hand on the ranch would have jumped at the chance, and here she had deliberately made sure there were no others available before going to him. Her few distant glimpses of Rock Casady had excited her interest, and she wanted to know him better.

Yet as the trail fell behind them, she had to admit she was getting no place. For shyness there was some excuse, although usually even the most bashful hand lost it when alone with her. Rock Casady was almost sullen and all she could get out of him were monosyllables.

The truth was that the nearer they drew to Three Lakes the more worried Rock grew. It had been six months since he had been in a town, and while it was improbable he would see anyone he knew, there was always a chance. Cowhands were notoriously footloose and fancy free. Once the story of his backing out of a gunfight got around, he would be through in this country, and he was tired of running.

Yet Three Lakes looked quiet enough as they ambled placidly down the street and tied up in front of the general store. He glanced at Sue tentatively.

“Ma’am,” he said, “I’d sure appreciate it if you didn’t stay too long. Towns make me nervous.”

She looked at him, more than slightly irritated. Her trip with him, so carefully planned, had thus far come to nothing, although she had to admit he was the finest-looking man she had ever seen, and his smile was quick and attractive.

“I won’t be long. Why don’t you go have a drink? It might do you good!” She said the last sentence a little sharply, and he looked quickly at her, but she was already flouncing into the store, as well as any girl could flounce in jeans.

Slowly he built a cigarette, studying the Hackamore Saloon over the way. He had to admit he was tempted, and probably he was foolish to think that he would get into trouble or that anyone would know him. Nevertheless, he sat down suddenly on the edge of the board walk and lighted his smoke.

He was still sitting there when he heard the sound of booted heels on the boardwalk, and then he heard a raucous voice.

“Ha! Lookit here! One of them no ’count Three Spokers in town! I didn’t think any of them had the sand!”

In spite of himself, he looked up, knowing instantly that this man was Pete Vorys.

He was broad in the shoulder, with narrow hips. He had a swarthy face with dark, brilliant eyes. That he had been drinking was obvious but he was far from drunk. With him were two tough-looking hands, both grinning cynically at him.

Vorys was spoiling for a fight. He had never been whipped and doubted there lived a man who could whip him in a tooth-and-nail knock-down and drag-out battle. This Three Spoker looked big enough to be fun.

“That’s a rawhide outfit, anyway,” Vorys sneered. “I’ve a mind to ride out there sometime, just for laughs. Wonder where they hooked this ranny?”

Despite himself, Rock was growing angry. He was not wearing a gun, and Vorys was. He took the cigarette out of his mouth and looked at it. Expecting trouble, a crowd was gathering. He felt his neck growing red.

“Hey, you!” Vorys booted him solidly in the spine, and the kick hurt. At the same time he slapped Casady with his sombrero. Few things are more calculated to enrage a man.

Rock came to his feet with a lunge. As he turned, with his right palm he grabbed the ankle of Vorys’ boot, and with his left fist he smashed him in the stomach, jerking up on the leg. The move was so sudden, so totally unexpected that there was no chance to spring back. Pete Vorys hit the boardwalk flat on his shoulder blades!

A whoop of delight went up from the crowd and for an instant, Pete Vorys lay stunned. Then with an oath he came off the walk, lunging to his feet.

Rock sprang back, his hands wide. “I’m not packin’ a gun!” he yelled.

“I don’t need a gun!” Vorys yelled. It was the first time he had ever hit the ground in a fight and he was furious.

He stepped in, driving a left to the head. Rock was no boxer. Indeed, he had rarely fought except in fun. He took that blow now, a stunning wallop on the cheekbone. At the same moment, he let go with a wicked right swing. The punch caught Vorys on the chin and rocked him to his heels.

More astonished than hurt, he sprang in and threw two swings for Rock’s chin, and Casady took them both coming in. A tremendous light seemed to burst in his brain, but the next instant he had Pete Vorys in his hands. Grabbing him by the collar and the belt, he heaved him to arm’s length overhead and hurled him into the street. Still dazed from the punches he had taken, he sprang after the bigger man, and seizing him before he could strike more than an ineffectual punch, swung him to arm’s length overhead again, and slammed him into the dust!

Four times he grabbed the hapless bully and hurled him to the ground while the crowd whooped and cheered. The last time, his head clearing, he grabbed Vorys’ shirt front with his left hand and swung three times into his face, smashing his nose and lips. Then he lifted the man and heaved him into the water tank with such force that water showered around him.