You're a damn fool! A young buck like you, which if you'd
stay straight could be foreman of any outfit on the range--an' mebbe git
one of his own started after while--goin' an' gittin' hisself outlawed!
Fer God's sake, man--you don't know what you've gone up
against--but--me--I know! How bad be you in?" The Texan started to
speak, but the other interrupted. "If it ain't bad--if a matter of a
thousan' or so will square it--you go an' fix it up. I've got the
money--an' it ain't doin' me no good--nor no one else, cached out in an
old iron kettle. You take it an' git straight--an' then you stay
straight!"

The Texan laughed: "There ain't nothin' against me--that is nothin' that
amounts to anything. I got a few drinks in me, an' cleaned out the Red
Front saloon over in Timber City an' because I wouldn't let Hod Blake
arrest me an' shove me in his damned little jail, he stuck up the
reward. I'll just ride over when I get time, an' claim the reward
myself--an' use the money to pay my fine with--that part's a joke."

As Grimshaw joined in the laugh, the Texan leaned over and laid his hand
on the man's shoulder: "But, I won't forget--Cass."

The man brushed away the hand: "Aw, hell! That's all right. You'd of
made a hell-winder of an outlaw, but the best of 'em an' the worst of
'em--there's nothin' ahead of us--but that." He jerked his thumb in the
direction of the body of Long Bill that lay sprawled where it had fallen
and changed the subject abruptly. "The woman's safe, all right--she's
over to Cinnabar Joe's."

"Cinnabar Joe's!"

"Yes, Cinnabar an' that there Jennie that used to work in the Wolf River
Hotel, they married up an' started 'em a little outfit over on Red
Sand--couple hundred head of dogies. Purdy's got somethin' on Cinnabar,
an'----"

"Somethin' on him!" exclaimed Tex, "Cinnabar's white clean through! What
could Purdy have on him?"

Grimshaw rolled another cigarette: "Cinnabar's be'n in this country
around six years. Him bein' more'n six year old, it stands to reason he
done quite a bit of livin' 'fore he come here. Where'd he come from?
Where'd you come from? Where'd I come from? Where'd anyone you know come
from? You might of be'n ornery as hell in Texas, or New Mexico, or
Colorado--an' I might of be'n a preacher in California, or Nevada. All
we know is that 'long as we've know'd him Cinnabar's be'n on the
level--an' that's all we're entitled to know--an' all we want to know.
Whatever Cinnabar was some