«Murphy!» Whip said clearly, cutting across Beau’s words. «No need to measure the salt a grain at a time. I want to be out of here before sundown.»

Beau gave Whip a hard look.

Whip smiled. Beneath his golden mustache the curve of his mouth was cold rather than reassuring, but Murphy was too far away to notice and the Culpeppers were looking only at Shannon.

«Don’t git yer water hot,» Murphy said from the other end of the room. «I’m movin’ fast as I can.»

«Move faster. The lady is in a hurry.»

Something in Whip’s voice made the Culpeppers turn and look at the fair-haired stranger.

Nothing had changed. He was still a big, easy-moving man with a bullwhip riding his right shoulder, a tolerant smile, and neither rifle nor revolver in sight. The Culpeppers each had belt guns, and no reluctance to use them.

«You better take Murphy’s advice, boy,» Beau drawled to Whip, «and don’t get your water hot for nothin’.»

As Beau spoke, his hand settled on his belt, just above the scarred wooden handle of his revolver.

«You’re big enough for two,» Clim said, «but we’re four to your one, we ain’t exactly tiny, and we’re packing guns.»

«I can see that,» Whip said.

It was all he said.

The Culpeppers muttered among themselves. They must have decided that the stranger was suitably cowed, because they began baiting Shannon again.

«Why don’t you turn yourself around, darlin’?» Beau said. «As pretty as your butt is, I’d a damn sight rather look at your teats.»

«Yeah,» Clim said. «We been wonderin’ all winter what you’d look like without them men’s rags you always wear. Are your teats dark like old Betsy’s, or are they red like Clementine’s?»

«Clementine rouges hers,» muttered one of the Culpeppers. «And thet ain’t the only place she greases.»

«Hell you say, Darcy,» Clim retorted. «I done left enough tooth marks on them teats to know what’s real and what’s rouge.»