arted toward
their room. "I didn't want to say anything in there," Brevoort
explained. "You can't tell who's sittin' behind you. But what was you
gettin' at, anyhow?"

"You recollect my tellin' you about that trouble at Showdown? And the
girl was my friend? Well, I never said nothin' to you about it, but I
git to thinkin' of her and I can kind of see her face like she was
tryin' to tell me somethin', every doggone time somethin's goin' to go
wrong. First off, I said to myself I was loco and it only happened
that way. But the second time--which was when we rode to the Ortez
ranch--I seen her again. Then when we was driftin' along by that
cactus over to Sanborn I come right clost to tellin' you that I seen
her--not like I kin see you, but kind of inside--and I knowed that
somethin' was a-comin' wrong. Then, first thing I know--and I sure
wasn't thinkin' of her nohow--there is her face in that picture. I
tell you, Ed, figuring out your trail is all right, and sure wise--but
I'm gettin' so I feel like playin' a hunch every time."

"Well, a drink will fix you up. Then we'll mosey over to the room.
Our stuff'll be there all right."

"'T ain't the money I'm thinkin' about. It's you and me."

"Forget it!" Brevoort slapped Pete on the shoulder. "Come on in here
and have something."

"I'll go you one more--and then I quit," said Pete. For Pete began to
realize that Brevoort's manner was slowly changing. Outwardly he was
the same slow-speaking Texan, but his voice had taken on a curious
inflection of recklessness which Pete attributed to the few but
generous drinks of whiskey the Texan had taken. And Pete knew what
whiskey could do to a man. He had learned enough about that when with
the horse-trader. Moreover, Pete considered it a sort of weakness--to
indulge in liquor when either in danger or about to face it. He had no
moral scruples whatever. He simply viewed it from a utilitarian angle.
A man with the fine edge of his wits benumbed by whiskey was apt to
blunder. And Pete knew only to well that they would have need for all
of their wits and caution to get safely out of El Paso. And to blunder
now meant perhaps a fight with the police--for Pete knew that Brevoort
would never suffer arrest without making a fight--imprisonment, and
perhaps hanging. He knew little of Brevoort's past record, but he knew
that his own would bulk big against him. Brevoort had taken another
drink after they had tacitly ag