In The Beginning by Gail Daley (top 100 books of all time checklist .TXT) 📕

right. McCaffey grabbed Red's fist at the end of the swing and busted Red over his hip into the dirt. Red sat there shaking his head to clear it until he realized the laughter and catcalls he heard were directed at him.

Mad now, he hopped up off the ground in a rush, intending to wrestle the smaller man to the ground where he could maul him properly. McCaffey ducked under Red's flailing arms and delivered a hard uppercut to the chin. Red went down and stayed down.

A bucket of water from the tricorn trough restored him enough to hear McCaffey asking if anyone else had questions. No one else had questions. Red worked his jaw gingerly to make sure it still functioned before he spoke. "Well, I guess you are pretty tough without your gun."

"Now that's settled," St. Vyr said briskly, "we got range grabbers to run off out at Ruby Canyon line camp. Mount up."

They headed south along the foothills towards Ruby Canyon. The spring at Ruby Canyon had been part of the Velasquez Ranchero, St. Vyr had renamed the Golden Tricorn when he had purchased the place. Three weeks ago, Johnson's hands had moved a small herd of cattle into the canyon, driving out any Golden Tricorn beasts they could find, and taking over the line shack. The fact that St. Vyr legally owned title to the land didn't mean he could keep it unless he could defend it. Here in the City State of Kenefic, land disputes that didn't concern mining claims were considered civil matters by the Mining District Laws agreed upon by the six powerful families who ruled it. Unlike some of the other City States where only one family or group held sway, the six families had agreed to cooperate with each other by establishing a joint council rather than ruin their livelihood by fighting until only one family was left standing.

McCaffey had seen the place on the map in St. Vyr's study, now he dismounted and walked forward examining the location in person. The line cabin had been designed to repel raiders looking to steal whatever they could find. The cabin was set too close to the sheer walls of the canyon for an easy attack from that side, and the broadleaf trees surrounding it had all been cleared, giving the hut a good view of the circling area. Like many buildings on St. Antoni, the hut was made of clay bricks so it wouldn't burn easily. A thin trail of smoke wafted skyward from the chimney. McCaffey looked up at the angle of the sun thoughtfully.

"We'll wait until dusk," he said. "Everyone take a break and clean your guns. Red, you can have the first watch."

It was cool under the trees. The soft carpet of leaves made no sound as the men moved around. McCaffey and Stevens helped St. Vyr down from the saddle, steadying the older man as he sank down against a tree before Stevens joined the crew waiting in the shade.

"You making it all right?" McCaffey asked the older man.

St. Vyr grimaced. "Bottle's in my saddlebag."

McCaffey fetched the brandy for him and waited in silence while he drank it. After a few minutes, St. Vyr let out a long sigh.

"You did good with the men this morning. If you can do as well with Bethany, I'll be able to die a happy man."

McCaffey made a rude noise. "You're too mean and cantankerous to die, St. Vyr."

The older man smiled mirthlessly. "That's a lie, but thanks anyway son. Suppose you tell me what you've got in mind for this evening?"

It wasn't too hard to sneak up the cabin in the dark. The three men Johnson had left to guard the cattle were so sure St. Vyr was too crippled up to mount an assault on them they hadn't posted a guard. McCaffey, Red and a big handsome vaquero named Durango stood on each other's shoulders and threw a blanket over the top of the chimney.

About five minutes later, three would-be land grabbers came staggering out the door, their eyes streaming from the smoke, coughing and spitting, to be confronted by the Golden Tricorn riders. It was no contest. Even three tough men, and these men were tough, were too smart to offer resistance when confronted by twelve armed men just spoiling for a fight.

"You reckon we should hang them?" inquired Red innocently. "I hear that's what they do to cattle thieves down south."

"We didn't steal no cattle!" one of the men protested. "Those steers are legal! And we work for the man what owns them!"

"You know, Amigo," Miguel remarked, "Maybe they are right. I think they are trespassers. Maybe we should tie them on the cattle and send them all back to the owner?"

All three men were patently horrified. It was obvious being tied to a wild cow was not their favorite form of entertainment.

McCaffey let this rough joshing of the prisoners go on until St. Vyr joined them. An involuntary silence fell. St. Vyr’s men were waiting for his judgment; the three hired guns were awed despite themselves. There was something about that tired, crippled old man that inspired fear.

St. Vyr sat his tricorn, his big hands resting on the saddle horn. "Reckon you boys haven't met my new Son-in-Law. Come say hello, McCaffey."

McCaffey stepped into the light cast by the oil lamp from the open door of the cabin. He ignored the three captives. "I've been listening to a lot of interesting suggestions about what to do with these three, St. Vyr. While I enjoyed the ideas, I think we ought to be proper law-abiding citizens and haul these three gentlemen (and I use the term loosely, very loosely) into town and charge them with trespass. Them and their boss."

St. Vyr laughed out loud. "Son, you got an evil mind. Did you know Representative Lancer is coming to River Crossing next week? I heard Johnson is trying to get in good with him. I'm going to enjoy watching