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property, unless you are planning to raise some cattle.”
    Jennings looked away, and said blandly, “What property are you talking about?”
    “Two Mile Meadow.”
    For a while they ro de in silence and Jennings, stone-faced, looked straight ahead. But Stewart was aware of the dilemma in the man’s mind and was fully prepared for what came next.
    Presently Jennings turned and said, “What about old Julio?”
    “What about him? He’s an old man and he’s been squatting on that land illegally for years. I hate to sound harsh, but he’ll have to go.”
    There was a trace of disappointment in Jennings ’ voice as he spoke, “I don’t think I could do that: make the old man move off so I could move on to the land. He’s pretty attached to that piece of ground.”
    Here was the hook, and Stewar t knew it. Jennings wanted Two Mile Meadow. He wanted it badly, but knew he could never enjoy it if he had to feel guilty about evicting the old Mexican who lived there.
    Stewart secretly detest ed all self-righteous, so-called moral people. He saw them as being so bound up by their own fear of guilt that they were unable to move. He knew that he was, himself, a selfish individual. He had long ago accepted that fact and in doing so had freed himself of any need to acquit himself of the charge by performing insincere, guilt-motivated acts of altruism. Moreover, he had learned how to assist others in rationalizing their actions and desires, which freed them in turn, to be controlled and manipulated by him.
    “Sheriff,” he said. “ Any way I go; whether I keep the land or lease it out or sell it, the old man has to go. Don’t think I’m totally heartless. I feel the same as you do. I couldn’t stand to see him turned out of his shack without any place to go, but he has friends in Mexican Town and I would be willing to pay to have an adobe built for him over there. He’s too old to take care of himself, and it’s dangerous for him to be living alone. He needs to be near other people so they can look out for him. Oh, I’m sure he’s not going to like it and he’ll kick up a ruckus, but he has to go. It’s best for all concerned.” He paused for a long, portentous moment. “I’m asking you, as sheriff, to evict him.”
    Stewart read on Jennings ’ face, that he had finally broken through the man’s reserve. Jennings’ moral dilemma was ended here. Now it became a simple matter of doing his job. Evicting the old man would be accomplished merely as a performance of his duties as sheriff, and he would not have to feel guilty about it.
    “You really want me to do that?” Jennings asked blandly.
    “It has to be done. And like I said Sheriff, I’ll see to it the old man has a place to go.”
    “Next time you ’re in town come over to the office and sign the papers.”
    “Fine,” said Stewart suppressin g a smile. “After the old man moves out you and I can talk terms, and frankly, Sheriff, I’m willing to let you set your own.”  Then he added in a tone of significance, “Something that’ll go easy on you.”
    Jennings fixed Stewart with a cold stare. “If I decide I want the land, I ’ll pay the going price. As long as I’m Sheriff, I’ll be beholden to no man, Mr. Stewart.”
    “I admire that,” said Stewart . “I’d feel the same way in your position.” He realized he had tried to push Jennings too fast. But, being too practiced to show disappointment, he acted cheerful, if less communicative, during the remainder of the ride to the T. S., where he endured his second disappointment in as many hours.
    Fogarty pulled him aside, leaving Jennings standing by his horse. Stewart had never seen Fogarty display emotion, but he could tell when the gunman was angry by the set of his square jaw and the cold burning fury in his eyes. Those eyes that had the power to turn a brave man’s blood cold and a courageous heart to jelly, were blazing now with a savage, killer rage, the intensity of which only an