always make some late rounds after Bucky goes to sleep.â
The youngster said, âI think you ought to take me with you on your rounds, Pa. Iâm not sleepy.â
Hatfield chuckled. âYou say that now, son, but I know good and well youâll be asleep two minutes after your head hits the pillow.â
A few minutes later, Luke and Consuela left the house. She had a wicker basket containing the food intended for McCluskey. Luke offered to carry it for her, but she said, âNo, thatâs all right, Señor Jensen. Itâs not heavy.â
As they turned onto Main Street, Luke saw that Rattlesnake Wells was loud and boisterous, but there wasnât any real trouble going on. âMarshal Hatfield seems to have the lid on this town pretty tight.â
âSÃ, the people respect him and try not to cause too much trouble,â Consuela agreed. âOf course, how could they not respect him? He is a fine man. I have known him for many years.â
âThen you must have known his wife.â
âPriscilla? Yes, she and Señor Hatfield were older than me, but we all grew up together down in . . .â Her voice trailed off and she didnât finish what she was saying.
But it had been enough to jog another memory in Lukeâs brain. âDown in Texas, right? In the border country? I remember hearing something a few years ago about a young fella down there who was mighty fast with a gun. Had red hair, too, as I recall. But he wasnât named Hatfield or called Sundown Bob, for that matter. Seems like they called him the Devilâs River Kid.â
He heard the sharp intake of breath from Consuela as he spoke that name. She stopped short and turned to face him on the boardwalk in front of a hardware store that was closed for the night. âSeñor Jensen, I . . . I donât know what youâre talking about.â
âThe Devilâs River Kid was an outlaw, wanted for murder,â Luke went on. âHe shot up a bunch of hired guns working for a wealthy local rancher. I donât remember all the details, but it seemed like he was in a bad spot and didnât have much choice but to do what he did.â
She stood stiff as a steel rod and said quietly, âPlease, Señor Jensen . . . no one here knows who Bob really is or what happened down in Texas. He just wants to live here in peace and raise his son.â
âMight not be easy to do, as fast on the draw as he is. Sooner or later, somebodyâs going to hear about him and remember the same things I just did and figure it out. Theyâll show up and try to take him back to Texas. Either that or beat him to the draw and get famous that way.â
âPerhaps. Perhaps not. If there is any justice in the worldââ
âWell, thatâs sure something nobody can count on,â Luke said.
âBut if there is,â Consuela insisted, âBob will have a good life here. I will do everything in my power to make it so.â She moved a step closer to him. âAnything you wish of me, Señor Jensen, to leave him alone, it is yours.â
âHold on a minute,â Luke said with a frown. âWhat makes you think Iâm after him?â
âYou are a bounty hunter, and . . . and . . .â
âAnd thereâs still a reward out for the Devilâs River Kid. But not for Marshal Bob Hatfield of Rattlesnake Wells, Wyoming. As far as Iâm concerned, thatâs who I just had supper with. A very pleasant supper, I might add.â
âThen you . . . you didnât come here to arrest him and . . . take him back to Texas, as you said?â
âSeñorita, all I want from that young man is the use of his jail for the night. Thatâs the honest truth. I didnât figure out who he really is until just a few minutes ago, and Iâm not going to cause trouble for anybody whoâs been so friendly and hospitable.â
âHe is a good man, a very good
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