new
without even putting it into words that they could never walk to
civilization. Their water would run out and heat exhaustion would get
them before they were halfway to anywhere. The base was closest, and it
was over thirty miles away, across desert and waterless mountains.

Scotty walked over to what had once been the hotel desk and held up a
can. "Want some breakfast?"

Rick was at his side in an instant, examining a can of tomatoes. "Where
did you get it?" It was shiny, the label unfaded.

"Down the street. In one of the houses. Someone comes here now and then,
I guess. There are blankets, a sleeping bag, and a small supply of
food."

Rick's brows knitted. "Shouldn't we have been standing guard?"

"I thought about it," Scotty admitted, "but I figured there wasn't much
sense to it. We'd welcome friend or foe at this point. Anyway, I don't
think whoever hangs out here is part of the gang."

"Why not?"

"Wouldn't the gang have been at his hide-out instead of here in the
hotel? Besides, this looks like a cache for just one man."

Rick had to admit that made sense. "Do you suppose he's here now?"

"I doubt it. I'd have heard a car if one came into town last night. I
wasn't sleeping that soundly."

"Well, I'm grateful to him, whoever he is. Let me at that can." Rick
searched in his pocket and found his scout knife. He opened the
can-opener blade and got to work. In a moment they were taking turns
drinking the slightly acid, refreshing juice and pouring whole tomatoes
into their mouths.

An amused voice spoke from the doorway. "Looks good."

Standing on the porch was a figure in worn but clean denims and miner's
boots. His face was weathered from years in the desert sun. His hair was
grizzled where it could be seen under an ancient and disreputable
flat-topped, broad-brimmed hat. His eyes, under shaggy brows, were a
clear, twinkling blue. The man held a rifle; the muzzle pointed
unwaveringly at the boys.

"That your jeep in the wash?" he asked.

"That's ours," Scotty affirmed.

"Mislay a few parts?"

"You might say so," Rick agreed. "Who are you?"

"I'm the mayor of Steamboat."

The boys started. "The mayor?" Rick echoed.

"Yep. Likewise the sheriff. As mayor, I welcome you. As sheriff, I want
your names and business."

The boys gave their names, then Scotty asked, "How did you get into
town? I didn't hear a car."

"Good reason. I didn't drive. Now, what are you doing here?"

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