afraid he might come back and kill you?”
“I don’t think so,” Curly said. “That would be the same as admitting he didn’t kill me the first time, and he don’t want to do that. He’d rather pretend it’s somebody else using a similar name, if he hears about me.”
Ringo was silent. He seemed more interested in the rocks and brush and cactus than in Curly. Curly glanced at his bronzed handsome face, and he was suddenly angered by the hardness and indifference of that face.
“You bastard! Why didn’t you let me know you were still alive? There I was getting all choked up over your grave and you weren’t even in it!”
“I didn’t know you cared that much, Curly.”
“The hell you didn’t.”
After a moment Ringo said, “I wanted to let you know I was still alive. But I didn’t want everyone else to know it.”
“You trying to say I can’t keep a secret?”
“Sure you can,” Ringo said. “For about five minutes. I needed a little longer than that. I didn’t want certain parties to try to finish what they started, at least not till I had time to recover from some lead they put in me.”
“I noticed you were favoring your left arm,” Curly said. “If it ain’t well by now it never will be.”
“Don’t let it worry you, Curly,” Ringo said in the quiet, hard, remote way he had at times.
“I also noticed you’re only carrying one gun,” Curly added, glancing at the smooth walnut butt of the .45 in Ringo’s holster. “You used to carry two.”
“I figure one’s enough for anything I’m liable to run into around here,” Ringo said, giving him a hard look.
“Where’ve you been all this time?” Curly asked, figuring their past friendship gave him certain rights.
“A lot of places where I didn’t belong,” Ringo said as if to himself. “But let’s not talk about me, Curly. Let’s discuss a subject closer to your heart. Let’s talk about you. What have you been doing since I left? Rustling cows, as usual?”
“Didn’t you know I would be?”
“I thought you might have seen the handwriting on the wall.”
“The only handwriting I’ve seen on any walls lately was some four-letter words,” Curly said. “And I couldn’t read some of them, the spelling was so bad.”
“I didn’t even know you could read,” Ringo said. Then he asked, “What’s the setup here, Curly? What’s going on?”
Curly rubbed a hand along his bristly jaw. “Well, I already gave you some idea back in town. Me and the Hatcher boys have been stealing Uncle Willy Gibson’s cows and selling them to some Mexicans below the border. Then we steal them back from the Mexicans and sell them back to him.”
“Sounds like a nice arrangement.”
“It has its drawbacks. We keep the cows so busy they don’t get a chance to put on no fat or increase in numbers the way they should. They get thinner and fewer all the time. Me and the Hatchers ain’t the only ones who’re doing it.”
Ringo turned those cold blue eyes on him. “The Lefferts boys?”
Curly nodded. “Them, and a gang of Mexicans below the border has been causing us a lot of trouble. Pedro Badilla and his bunch. We’ve come to a sort of arrangement with the Mexicans, though.”
“What sort of arrangement?”
“We sell the cows to them for a few dollars a head and they sell them to the Mexican ranchers, then steal them back and sell them back to us or trade them for a new bunch that’s still wearing Uncle Willy’s brand. We let the Mexicans do all the brand-changing for us. Ain’t nobody getting rich that way, but I figger it beats fighting. Seeing as how they outnumber us about three to one.”
“What’s this Uncle Willy having to say about it?” Ringo asked.
“He ain’t had much of anything to say about it until right here lately,” Curly said. “But lately his attitude has caused us and the Lefferts boys some concern. I think they warned him not to try to send for any outside help or anything, and that was
“I don’t think so,” Curly said. “That would be the same as admitting he didn’t kill me the first time, and he don’t want to do that. He’d rather pretend it’s somebody else using a similar name, if he hears about me.”
Ringo was silent. He seemed more interested in the rocks and brush and cactus than in Curly. Curly glanced at his bronzed handsome face, and he was suddenly angered by the hardness and indifference of that face.
“You bastard! Why didn’t you let me know you were still alive? There I was getting all choked up over your grave and you weren’t even in it!”
“I didn’t know you cared that much, Curly.”
“The hell you didn’t.”
After a moment Ringo said, “I wanted to let you know I was still alive. But I didn’t want everyone else to know it.”
“You trying to say I can’t keep a secret?”
“Sure you can,” Ringo said. “For about five minutes. I needed a little longer than that. I didn’t want certain parties to try to finish what they started, at least not till I had time to recover from some lead they put in me.”
“I noticed you were favoring your left arm,” Curly said. “If it ain’t well by now it never will be.”
“Don’t let it worry you, Curly,” Ringo said in the quiet, hard, remote way he had at times.
“I also noticed you’re only carrying one gun,” Curly added, glancing at the smooth walnut butt of the .45 in Ringo’s holster. “You used to carry two.”
“I figure one’s enough for anything I’m liable to run into around here,” Ringo said, giving him a hard look.
“Where’ve you been all this time?” Curly asked, figuring their past friendship gave him certain rights.
“A lot of places where I didn’t belong,” Ringo said as if to himself. “But let’s not talk about me, Curly. Let’s discuss a subject closer to your heart. Let’s talk about you. What have you been doing since I left? Rustling cows, as usual?”
“Didn’t you know I would be?”
“I thought you might have seen the handwriting on the wall.”
“The only handwriting I’ve seen on any walls lately was some four-letter words,” Curly said. “And I couldn’t read some of them, the spelling was so bad.”
“I didn’t even know you could read,” Ringo said. Then he asked, “What’s the setup here, Curly? What’s going on?”
Curly rubbed a hand along his bristly jaw. “Well, I already gave you some idea back in town. Me and the Hatcher boys have been stealing Uncle Willy Gibson’s cows and selling them to some Mexicans below the border. Then we steal them back from the Mexicans and sell them back to him.”
“Sounds like a nice arrangement.”
“It has its drawbacks. We keep the cows so busy they don’t get a chance to put on no fat or increase in numbers the way they should. They get thinner and fewer all the time. Me and the Hatchers ain’t the only ones who’re doing it.”
Ringo turned those cold blue eyes on him. “The Lefferts boys?”
Curly nodded. “Them, and a gang of Mexicans below the border has been causing us a lot of trouble. Pedro Badilla and his bunch. We’ve come to a sort of arrangement with the Mexicans, though.”
“What sort of arrangement?”
“We sell the cows to them for a few dollars a head and they sell them to the Mexican ranchers, then steal them back and sell them back to us or trade them for a new bunch that’s still wearing Uncle Willy’s brand. We let the Mexicans do all the brand-changing for us. Ain’t nobody getting rich that way, but I figger it beats fighting. Seeing as how they outnumber us about three to one.”
“What’s this Uncle Willy having to say about it?” Ringo asked.
“He ain’t had much of anything to say about it until right here lately,” Curly said. “But lately his attitude has caused us and the Lefferts boys some concern. I think they warned him not to try to send for any outside help or anything, and that was
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