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meet you two when you don’t have three carbines backin’ you.’
    Young Brenell grinned.
    â€˜The pleasure’ll be ours,’ he said.
    McAllister reined around and rode away west. He didn’t look back, but he could hear the plod-plod of the riders behind him and the soft music of their creaking leather and the chink of the bridle chains. They rode with him for five miles before they stopped. Still McAllister didn’t look back. He went straight ahead and there over the next rise he could see the smoke of the Clanton chimneys. He tracked now at an angle slightly to the north, went around the east of the town and, toward dusk, came to the softly moving waters of a full creek. This he found curved away into the west and he followed it at a steady pace. The canelo perked up a little now, knowing that there was good bait ahead. Another couple of miles and dark had settled down over the land and there ahead of him he saw the lights of a house. Soon he was drawing rein alongside the horse-corral and hailing the house.
    â€˜Hello, the house.’
    He was surprised when the answer came not from the house but to his left.
    â€˜Sing out your name.’
    â€˜McAllister.’
    â€˜Rem?’
    â€˜The same.’
    A man rushed out of the darkness, McAllister slid from the saddle and his hand was clasped by the strong hand of the other.
    â€˜Why, you old son-of-a-gun …’
    â€˜How’ve you been, Jim?’
    â€˜Fine, fine. My God, it’s good to see you. What brought you this way?’
    â€˜Why, I hankered to visit with you an’ Pat is-all.’
    â€˜Pat’ll go crazy when she sees you, man.’ A heavy slap on the back. ‘I was never more pleased to see a feller. Come on up to the house.’
    McAllister said: ‘Why the rifle? You got trouble?’
    â€˜Sure, I got trouble. Tell you later. Now come an’ tell Pat hello. She’ll sure go crazy.’
    They crossed the yard, McAllister ground-hitched the canelo, they mounted the stoop and went into the house. A woman turned from the table in the center of the room with the lighted lamp on it. McAllister thought:
Hell, Jim’s got himself a wife.
She was a beauty—perfect face capped by a heavy dusting of red-gold hair; the body was deep-breasted, narrow-waisted and full in the hip. She was tall and long-legged. Enough to take any man’s breath away and McAllister stood there gaping with his breath gone.
    Then she smiled, her generous mouth exposing fine white teeth and said: ‘Rem! It can’t be,’ and he saw it was Pat.
    â€˜Holy mackerel,’ he exclaimed. ‘Shucks … I…’ But she was in his arms, kissing him. He held her at arms’ length and looked at her, feeling the power of those clear gray eyes, wondering why the hell he’d been away so long.
    â€˜Jim,’ he said, ‘it ain’t possible. What happened to the scrawny kid I knew?’ He laughed in sheer delight and wonder and she had the grace to blush under his unashamed admiration. ‘Heck, this one’s a real beauty. I seen ‘em from Canada to the Border, but there ain’t one in the land to match this one.’
    She broke free of his grip and said: ‘That’s enough of that, I guess. You don’t change, Remington McAllister.’
    Jim was laughing. They talked and laughed together for the next half-hour, happy in each other’s company, with McAllister every now and then turning to look at Pat and laugh in delight, saying: ‘If I’d knowed about this I’d of been here a lot sooner.’
    â€˜You’ll have to get in line and take your turn,’ Rigby said.
    â€˜You mean I have competition?’
    â€˜The whole country below the age of forty and I even have trouble with the oldsters. Every damn cowhand and settler within miles gets himself lost in this direction and has to come to the house to ask his way.’
    Pat busied herself