Fortunately, Brawley and his men knew it. They stopped a dozen paces away, feet spread, hands at the ready.

Brawley spit a stream of tobacco into the street, then wiped his sleeve across his mouth. “This place ain’t big enough for the two of us, McQuaid.”

“If that’s the way you feel, then I guess you oughta be moving on.”

“You’re the one needing to move on.” Brawley’s bottom lip rounded out from the chew stuffed inside, and his thin, scraggly beard and mustache were stained with the juice. Brawley probably wasn’t much older than Wyatt’s own twenty-three years, but his lean, leathery face and somber eyes spoke of hardships that had aged him too soon.

“Come on now, Brawley.” Wyatt attempted to dredge up some empathy for the man. After all, he knew a bit about hardships himself. “This land here in South Park can handle more than one ranch. Let’s aim to live in peace—”

“Peace?” Brawley scoffed. “You buying up all the cattle and leaving me with none ain’t aiming for peace.”

Wyatt almost snorted but held himself back. Brawley had things backward. He was the one buying up the weak and worn-out oxen as rapidly as the miners and teamsters came over the passes.

The rumbling of wheels and the pounding of hooves from the northeast end of town cut off their discussion. Discussion was too kind a word for Brawley’s attempt to intimidate Wyatt into leaving. It wasn’t the first time the rancher had made threats, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

As the stagecoach rolled closer, the clatter and dust rose higher. Brawley bent and retrieved his revolver and then headed toward his men. Across the street, Judd watched with unswerving intensity, his bushy white eyebrows narrowed and his white mustache pursed until the men disappeared into the billiard hall. Once they were gone, Judd tipped the brim of his hat at Wyatt before he shuffled back toward the newly purchased steers.

Wyatt rolled his shoulders and tried to release the tension. At the rate he was going, he’d never make enough profit to send for his ma and siblings. Even if he could help his family with the costs of traveling to Colorado, how would he support them once they arrived?

What he needed to do was purchase a herd of purebred Shorthorns from the breeder he’d met in Missouri during his days transporting livestock for Russell, Majors, & Waddell. Beeves like that would thrive on the buffalo grass, wheat grass, and moss sage.