The Sheriff's Son
the Rutherfords there was no man on earth he less wanted to meet. The forty-four in his hand jerked up convulsively. The miscreant was in two minds whether to let fly or wait.
Roy did not even falter in his stride. He did not raise the weapon in his loosely hanging hand. His eyes bored as steadily as gimlets into the craven heart of the outlaw.
Meldrum, in a panic, warned him back. His nerve was gone. For two days he had been drinking hard, but the liquor had given out at midnight. He needed a bracer badly. This was no time for him to go through with a finish fight against such a man as Beaudry.
"Keep yore distance and tell me what you want," the ex-convict repeated hoarsely. "If you don't, I 'll gun you sure."
The young cattleman stopped about five yards from him. He knew exactly what terms he meant to give the enemy.
"Put your gun up," he ordered sharply.
"Who's with you?"
"Never mind who is with me. I can play this hand alone. Put up that gun and then we 'll talk."
That suited Meldrum. If it was a question of explanations, perhaps he could whine his way
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