The Morgan Trail by W.C. Tuttle

And that same morning Rex Morgan arrived at Cañonville. His right eye was still discolored and there were bruises on his face, but he had purchased a pair of trousers, and still had five dollars left.

Cañonville rather amazed him: the architecture, the dusty street, all horse-drawn vehicles, wide-hatted men. Rex knew nothing of the cattle country. The stage office sign caught his eye, and he remembered that he must ride by stage to Mesa City. He had made up his mind to find the man who had sent that seventy-five-dollar check.