“That’s what I said--complaint. Silver Butte ain’t big enough for two big saloons. Splittin’ the business will hurt my place, but Jim Flack don’t want a split--he wants it all. They’re lyin’ about my place, tryin’ to turn the construction crews against me. Flack wants to boss the town--run me out of Silver Butte--even burn me out, if nothin’ else works. I demand protection by the law.” “Comin’ from you,” said Mack Shell slowly, “that’s funny.” “Don’t say they can’t!” snapped Brant angrily. “They burned the Sundance and shot Jim Flack. Almost killed him, too.” “We all know that, Brant,” said Shell. “We also know that you was here weeks before that, tryin’ to get started. When the Sundance burned, you started buildin’ the Silver Dollar Saloon on that same spot, almost before the ashes were cold. Who paid to burn the Sundance has never been proved, but I heard that it was a paid job.” Brant ignored the implication that he had a hand in the burning of the Sundance. He said: “Do I get the backin’ of the law, Malone?” “When you can show me that you deserve it--yes,” replied Streak. “But the law ain’t backin’ crooked play, Brant.” “Are you accusin’ me of runnin’ crooked games?” “_I_ do,” said Mack Shell quickly. “Malone ain’t been here long enough to know what yuh do, Brant.” “I see,” muttered the big gambler. “So that’s the help I’ll get from the law, eh? I thought that the law meant a square-deal for everybody. As far as the Eureka and their bunch of tinhorns are concerned, I’ll handle my own case. And as for you two--I don’t want yore help. I’ll make my own laws, and enforce ’em, too. Malone, you and yore gun-fightin’ deputy can stay on this side of the street. I’ll handle the other side.” Zero Brant turned and went out into the busy street. Streak laughed quietly. He said, “I wonder if he thinks we’ll honor his deadline, Shell.” “He knows we won’t, Streak. Brant is no fool. I’m goin’ out and find my boys. I won’t be goin’ out to the ranch for a few days, and there’s things I want done. See yuh later, Streak.” It was late in the afternoon when Streak Malone went into the Silver Dollar. The place was about half-filled at that time of day. There were several men at the long bar, and among them were Dan Corteen and Monk Moore. Corteen was wearing a long, broadcloth coat, patent-leather boots, a wide-brimmed, black hat and the fanciest vest Streak Malone had ever seen. It was a riot of color, with flashing buttons. The tall gambler looked at Streak through narrowed eyes as Streak came in past the bar. III Malone did not speak to these men because he didn’t know any of them, except by name. Zero Brant was at the far end of the bar, talking with one of his gamblers, and Streak nodded to him. Then he heard Corteen saying: “So they’ve got law and order here, eh?” One of the men said, “Such as it is. They appointed a man as marshal, but one man won’t do much.” “The Vigilantes killed the sheriff,” remarked Corteen.