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you’re not just going to accept any answer,” Clint said. “You want the right answer. And if I’m right, the sheriff is going to have to check with somebody on his next move.”
    â€œSo what’s our next move?”
    â€œLike I said at breakfast,” Clint said, “you’re going to take me and introduce me to the Rayfields.”

TWENTY-FOUR
    The Rayfield farm was fifty-four miles east of Monroe City. Clint decided that he and Sonnet should camp along the way, so as not to startle the family by knocking on their door too late at night.
    â€œAfter all,” Clint said, “they’re farmers. They’ll be up early, and so will we.”
    They built a campfire a few miles from the farmhouse, prepared some beans and coffee.
    â€œWhat’s the next town?” Clint asked.
    â€œJust a few miles beyond the farm is a small town called Garfield.”
    â€œDo they have a telegraph key there?”
    â€œI know what you’re thinking,” Sonnet said. “I never got to go to that town, but that’s where I been sending telegrams for Betty.”
    â€œSo she hasn’t been riding into Monroe City to pick them up.”
    â€œI don’t think her father would let her do that.”
    â€œOkay,” Clint said. “After we talk with Betty and her father, we’ll take a ride to Garfield.”
    â€œAlso her mother.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œHer mother and her uncle, they’ll be there, too.”
    â€œWe’ll talk to the whole family,” Clint said.
    â€œWhat makes you think they know somethin’ they didn’t tell me?” Sonnet asked.
    â€œI don’t know,” Clint said. “Maybe they saw something when they found you that they don’t know was important.”
    â€œWell,” Sonnet said, “I don’t remember anything until I woke up in their house.”
    â€œWhat happened before that?”
    â€œI was just riding,” Sonnet said.
    â€œTo Monroe City?”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œFrom where?”
    Sonnet hesitated. Clint stared at his confused face across the fire.
    â€œDon’t you remember?”
    Frowning, Sonnet said, “I guess maybe I don’t.”
    â€œBut you know you weren’t coming from Garfield.”
    â€œI don’t think I was ever in Garfield.”
    â€œAnd you didn’t stop at the farm.”
    â€œNo, I had never seen them before.”
    â€œYou had to be coming from somewhere.”
    â€œThere are a lot of little towns hereabouts,” Sonnet said. “It could have been any one of them.”
    â€œAll right,” Clint said, “we’ll let that go for now. But that may be something the Rayfields can help us with. Maybe you said something while you were unconscious.”
    â€œI guess.”
    â€œMore beans?”
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    They decided to stand a watch, just in case somebody was following them—somebody so good at it that Clint couldn’t tell.
    Clint took the first watch, putting on another pot of coffee for himself.
    Sonnet rolled himself up in his bedroll and fell asleep. He did not, however, sleep well. He rolled about fitfully, obviously having dreams that were not restful.
    Clint didn’t blame him. First his brother was killed. Then he started hunting down and killing men who might turn out to be innocent.
    With that on his mind, Clint doubted he’d be able to sleep soundly either.

TWENTY-FIVE
    In the morning they finished the beans and coffee for breakfast, and mounted up. Sonnet took the lead and headed for the farm.
    â€œYou didn’t sleep very well last night, Jack,” Clint said.
    â€œI didn’t?”
    â€œYou were tossing and turning,” Clint said. “What were you dreaming about?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Sonnet said. “I never remember my dreams.”
    â€œI suppose that could be a good thing,” Clint said. “I