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for your gun, is that how this is supposed to work?”
    “I’m just tryin’ to give you what you asked for, mister,” Culhane said.
    “Get your hands high. I’m not going to make it easy for you.”
    Culhane shrugged and lifted his hands as high above his head as his arms could reach. Without taking his eyes off the Ranger, The Kid bent at the knees and held the Winchester with one hand as he reached down with the other for the leather folder.
    When he had it, he straightened again. He flipped the folder open and glanced at the card and the folded papers inside. They identified the bearer as Asa Culhane, a Texas Ranger attached to Company C in San Antonio.
    “All right, put your hands down.” The Kid didn’t see any point in being needlessly stubborn. He closed the folder and tossed it back to Culhane, who caught it easily. “Let’s say I believe you’re really a Ranger.”
    “Good ... because that’s what I am.” Culhane’s eyes narrowed as he tucked away the folder in his pocket. “You mind lowerin’ that repeater, son? Havin’ it pointin’ at me like that makes me a mite nervous.”
    The Kid aimed the Winchester at the ground between them. He could lift it again in a hurry if he needed to.
    “Come on around behind this rock with me, Culhane,” he said. “That way we can talk without me worrying about some of your men trying to pick me off from up there.”
    “They’re not gonna take any more potshots at you. I gave ’em strict orders not to open fire unless I told ’em to.”
    “Yeah, well, you probably told them not to go around trying to murder anybody they happened to come across, too, and look how well they followed those orders.”
    Culhane laughed. “I reckon you got a point there, son.” He turned his head toward the man on the ground. “Clyde! Get back up there and tell the rest of the boys I said no more shootin’ unless they’re shot at first. If anybody gets trigger-happy again, I’ll kick his ass from here to Texarkana, personal-like!”
    Clyde hesitated. He called to The Kid, “Is ... is it all right if I get up, mister?”
    “Go on,” The Kid said. “Deliver Ranger Culhane’s message for him.”
    That put an end to Clyde’s hesitation. He scrambled to his feet and ran up the slope, slipping and staggering from rock to rock in his haste. The Kid could hear him panting from the exertion.
    “All right, Culhane,” The Kid went on. “Get down from that horse and come around here.”
    “That bit about not gettin’ trigger-happy goes for you, too, you know.” Culhane swung down from the saddle and let the reins dangle so the horse, if it was well-trained, would stay where it was. Keeping his empty hands in plain sight, Culhane walked around the massive stone slab.
    The Kid backed away, watching intently for any telltale signs that Culhane was about to make a grab for the holstered revolver with staghorn grips he wore on his hip. The Ranger kept his hands half raised.
    “Reckon the first thing we better clear up is who you are, amigo,” Culhane said when he was behind the rock.
    “No, the first thing we need to get clear is that if any of your men try to sneak up and pull something funny, you’ll die. I’ll see to that.”
    “I believe you.” Culhane nodded. “But believe me, those boys ain’t gonna try nothin’. You got ’em plenty spooked. Reckon you could’ve killed Clyde and those other three without much trouble, and they know it.”
    The Kid sensed that Culhane was telling the truth. He didn’t really want to be on the bad side of the Texas Rangers. They were a legendary organization, probably the West’s most famous outlaw hunters, and once a man’s name was written down in their book, they never stopped pursuing him.
    “That’s right, I could have killed them, but I didn’t, because I’m not one of the men you’re looking for. My name’s Morgan. I’m just passing through these parts.”
    “Morgan, Morgan ...” Culhane mused. “Don’t