Though Euclid Summerville was several years older than Andy and forty pounds heavier, he lay pinned on his back. Andy sat astraddle and pounded on him while Summerville waved his hands futilely, trying to ward off the blows.

He was Gaskin’s nephew. Rusty used to believe that Texas could never produce specimens of humanity as worthless as Gaskin’s late sons, but Summerville had proven him wrong. He was as lazy as his uncle, sharing the old man’s bad habits and contributing a few of his own. Rusty had heard speculation that he had been more than friendly with Gaskin’s homely daughter. If that was so, he hated to think what manner of offspring the inbreeding might produce.

“How I wear my hair is my business,” Andy declared. “Now say you like it just the way it is.”

Summerville choked as he tried to answer. “Damn Indian son of a bitch!” He face was red enough to suggest he was about to go into some kind of slobbering fit.

Andy gave Summerville’s arm a strong twist. “Say it.”

“All right, all right. I’m sayin’ it.”

Gaskin stepped in closer to protest. “Git up from there and whup him, Euclid. You can do it.”

Obviously Summerville could not. His dusty face, already pudgy, was beginning to swell from the punishment. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. Andy pushed to his feet and stepped back. Stooping to pick up a pocketknife, he started to close the blade, then reconsidered and broke it off against a hitching post. He pitched the ruined knife to Summerville.

“Next time you try to cut off my hair, I’m liable to cut off somethin’ of yours.”

Gaskin shouted, “Where’s the law when you need it? This damned Comanche needs to be throwed in jail.”

A bystander said, “Euclid started it. You’d better tell him to pick on people his own size from now on. The smaller ones can beat the whey out of him.” Several onlookers laughed.

F’or the first time, Gaskin took notice of Rusty. “You Shannons! Damned Unionists and Indian lovers, the lot of you.”

Rusty managed to contain his rising temper. “You’d better go home, Fowler, and take Euclid with you. He’s liable to pick a fight with some schoolgirl and get beat up again.”

Gaskin could see that none of the crowd showed sympathy for his nephew. He muttered to himself and jerked Summerville’s arm. Near exhaustion, Summerville almost fell. “Come on,” Gaskin said. “We got better things to do than furnish entertainment for the town loafers.”

Summerville mumbled some halfhearted excuse, but it was not intelligible. The community did not have a high regard for his mental abilities.

Watching them leave, Andy dusted himself off, then sucked at a bleeding knuckle.

Rusty said crisply, “Haven’t you ever seen a fight you could back away from? You’re lucky Euclid didn’t stick that blade between your ribs.”