Bullets for a Ranger: A Walt Slade Western. Bradford Scott

table. For an instant his glance lingered on Eldon Parr, standing erect and commanding by the bar. From the moment he had entered the room, his exression had not changed. During the hectic encounter with the cowhand his face had remained impassive as a deal board. Only his eyes seemed to burn as they rested on El Halcón’s tall form. After Slade was seated, he strolled to the table.

      “May I?” he said, nodding to a vacant chair.

      “Sit down, Eldon, and have a drink,” Sheriff Ross invited hospitably. “How was that for singing? Ever hear the beat of it? I never did.”

      “And I doubt if you ever will,” replied Parr. He turned to Slade. “You are to be congratulated on your rare gift. And, incidentally, I wish to thank you for what you did in my behalf. I thought for an instant I was going to get an air hole in my hide.”

      “I doubt if he would have pulled trigger, but I thought it best not to take chances,” Slade answered.

      “I am very glad you thought so,” Parr returned dryly. “I am not very adept in the use of a gun, so I seldom carry one. Hodson, I understand, is. And I have noted that a man who is adept in handling one is usually quick to use it.”

      Slade nodded but did not otherwise comment. He was confident in his own mind that Hodson did intend to use the gun he drew.

      “Eldon, just what did Al Hodson say to you that set you off so?” asked the sheriff.

      “It was not what he said, but the manner in which he said it,” replied Parr. “Tonal inflection can carry a more stinging impact than words. What he said was, ‘All of a sudden this place is smelling mighty strong of sheep.’ The words alone could have meant little, but the implication was plain.”

      “I see,” said the sheriff. Walt Slade, while not appearing to do so, abruptly took a stronger interest in Eldon Parr; his manner of expressing himself, the Ranger thought, was a trifle out of the ordinary.

      “Sheep!” growled the sheriff. “The blattin’ varmints always can be counted on to kick up a ruckus where there’s open range. We can do without them here—the herders down to the south have all that’s needed. Let them handle them.”

      “Sheriff,” Eldon Parr said, “if I decide to run sheep onto the open range here I will do so, despite opposition. If the land is open range for cattle, there is no reason why it shouldn’t be open range to sheep.”

      Parr spoke calmly, without raising his voice, but Slade was convinced he meant exactly what he said. He was impressed with the force of the man’s personality and believed that opposition would not deter him from any set purpose.

      “You’ll be looking for trouble if you do run ’em in,” Sheriff Ross warned.

      “I think,” Eldon Parr replied deliberately, “that I am competent to take care of any trouble that comes my way. Good night, gentlemen.” He rose to his feet, and with a nod, left the saloon.