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near water. That’ll make things easier.”
    â€œThat’s how I figured it.”
    The silence between the two men stretched into a state of discomfort. Both were aware of the burgeoning friendship that had grown between them—and both knew it was quite possible that they’d never see one another again.
    â€œWell, hell,” Will said, finishing his coffee and setting the mug aside. “I might just as well pull out, Lucas—use all the daylight I can.”
    â€œI guess. One thing, Will: there ain’t no shame nor dishonor in picking One Dog offa his horse with your rifle at a hundred yards or so. Then you can take hismen down as you see fit. One Dog is purely evil—you’d be doin’ the world a favor.”
    â€œThat ain’t my way, Lucas.”
    Lucas sighed. “I figured you’d say that.” The men extended their hands and shook, peering into one another’s eyes, seeing the friendship there.
    â€œWatch your back, pard,” Lucas said. He turned away and began shoveling pea coal into his forge.
    â€œI’ll do that,” Will said. He mounted and clucked to Slick.
    He could have cut off a few miles by not riding out to the ranch, but for some reason it was important to him that his journey start there. He didn’t dismount at the mounds; in fact he spent only a few moments gazing at them. The image, he knew, he’d carry forever, and it would push him on when he was too weary to take another step.
    Will didn’t mind traveling alone. In fact, he preferred it. He’d deserted the Confederate Army after the Third Battle of Petersburg, where Grant overwhelmed Lee and the rebels in sixty-five. Since then he’d drifted alone, putting together a few men when he needed them, and leaving them as soon as the job was done.
    The sun, Will realized, was his most powerful enemy. Early on he’d loped Slick a bit, but as the heat became more debilitating, he held the horse to a rapid walk, broken every few miles for more miles of a slow walk. Both man and horse were dripping sweat by midday.
    At dusk they struck a tiny oasis with a few scraggly, desiccated desert pines around the puddle of sulfur-smelling water, right where Lucas had placed it on the map. Both Will and Slick drank: Will figuredthat using as little canteen water as possible made good sense.
    Will hobbled Slick and let him graze on what little grass there was and walked out on the prairie. He didn’t have to go far before he spooked a fat jackrabbit out of some scrub and took it down with a single round from his Colt. He skinned and gutted it, built a small fire from sticks and broken branches, skewered the carcass, and sat back as the meat sizzled over the flames.
    He used canteen water to brew coffee in an empty sliced-peaches can that had been with him since he left Folsom. Coffee was not only a necessity, but was precious, and brewed from sulfur water, it would have tasted like runoff from a hog pen, but it was coffee, and that’s what counted.
    The days passed, one a precise mirror of the one before and the one to follow, except that Will knew each mile brought him closer to One Dog and his band. He lived on jerky, rabbit, prairie dog, and a couple of times skinned-out rattlesnakes. Slick maintained his strength on the sparse grazing, but he was losing a bit of weight.
    The town of Lord’s Rest had seemed impossibly far off when he left Dry Creek, but now he was a few miles from it and his mouth was watering as he imagined a good meal, a few beers, and maybe a shave. A bath would have been a foolish luxury: he’d be soaked in sweat as soon as he was back on the trail.
    Slick, he knew, could use a day or so off, some good feed, lots of clean water, and some rest, and it was possible Will could pick up some information in the town.
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    The coach stop had two saloons, a mercantile, and a livery. There were other single-story buildings but they were boarded up.