Okar was the trade mart of a section of country larger than some of the Old World states.
Fringing the hitching rails in front of its buildings were various vehicles--the heavy wagons of Mexican freighters, the light buckboard of the cattleman, and the prairie schooner of the homesteader.
Mingling with the vehicles were the cow-ponies of horsemen who had ridden into town on various errands; and in the company corrals were many cattle awaiting shipment.
Sanderson stood beside his horse at the hitching rail for a look at Okar.
There was one street--wide and dust-windrowed, with two narrow board walks skirting it.

The buildings--mostly of one story--did not interest Sanderson, for he had seen their kind many times, and his interest centered upon the people.
"Different from Tombstone," he told Owen as the two entered the hotel.
"Tombstone is cattle--Okar is cattle and business.

I sort of like cattle better." Owen grinned.

"Cattle are too slow for some of Okar's men," he said.
"There's men here that figure on making a killing every day--financially.

Gamblers winning big stakes, supply dealers charging twenty times the value of their stuff; a banker wanting enormous interest on his money; the railroad company gobbling everything in sight--and Silverthorn and Dale framing up to take all the land and the water-rights.