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I’ll ride into Lincoln with you . . . if you want some company, that is.”
    â€œSure. Always nice to have somebody to talk to on the trail.”

Four
    As they rode toward Lincoln, Falcon and Bonney talked.
    â€œYou’re a pretty fair hand with that short gun, Billy. Where’d you learn to shoot like that?”
    â€œYou can call me Kid, Falcon. Everybody else does. I learned to shoot ’cause I had to. I been on my own since I was fourteen or so. Hell, I worked sheep and cattle in Arizona, and even was a teamster for a while over at Camp Grant.”
    He gave a small smile. “You don’t long survive doin’ that kind of work less’n you can shoot, fast and straight.”
    Falcon nodded. He knew how hard life was on the frontier, and how it made boys grow to men in a very short time.
    Before Falcon could answer the Kid his horse Diablo laid his ears back and nickered, shaking his head from side to side.
    Falcon stiffened. Something was wrong for Diablo to act skittish like this. He casually reached down and slipped the rawhide hammer thongs off his Colts.
    Bonney saw what he was doing and asked, “You see somethin’?”
    â€œI think we may have some trouble up ahead, where the trail turns around that clump of mesquite trees. My horse is acting up, and that usually means company’s coming.”
    Kid hooked his coat in his belt and slipped his hammer thongs off. “Well, if they’s thieves, they’s gonna be mighty disappointed. I ain’t got two coins to rub together. I was hoping for a grubstake from Chisum so’s I could eat tonight.”
    As the pair approached the copse of trees, four riders walked their horses out of hiding and blocked the trail.
    The leader of the group, a tall, skinny man with chin whiskers and a scar on his left cheek that drew his lips up in a perpetual scowl, held a short, double-barreled shotgun pointed at the sky, with its stock on his thigh. “You gents work for Chisum?”
    Falcon reined Diablo to a halt ten yards from the group. “And what business is it of yours who we work for?”
    â€œWe’re deputy sheriffs, working for the sheriff of Lincoln County, William Brady.”
    â€œThat don’t answer the man’s question,” the Kid said, his lips curled up in a grin that didn’t reach his eyes.
    â€œWe been having some reports that other people’s stock has been turning up in Chisum’s herd. You boys know anything ’bout that?”
    Falcon gave a slow smile. “I don’t reckon Mr. Chisum would much appreciate being called a rustler, but I could be wrong. Why don’t you men ride on up to his ranch and ask him your questions?
    A shorter, fat man sitting to the leader’s left said, “ ’Cause we’re askin’ you gents. Now you tell us what you know or we’ll be forced to arrest you, and you can spend some time in jail thinking over your answers.”
    The Kid’s face paled at the mention of jail, but his grin didn’t change. “I don’t think I’d like that, an’ I don’t think you’re man enough to take me anywheres.”
    â€œWhy you little . . .” the fat man started to say as he went for his gun.
    Before he got his pistol halfway out of his holster, the Kid drew and fired. His Colt exploded, belching a cloud of acrid-smelling smoke as it blew a chunk of meat out of the man’s right shoulder and spun him around, knocking him off his horse to sprawl facedown in the dirt.
    As the leader started to lower his shotgun and the other two riders reached for their pistols, they found themselves staring down the barrel of both of Falcon’s Colts, hammers back. “Easy, boys. Just put those weapons back where they came from and raise your hands.”
    The men’s eyes grew wide at the speed with which Billy and Falcon had drawn, surprised to find themselves at a disadvantage.
    â€œJust keep them