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fingers off the triggers,” the skinny man said. “You don’t want to go shootin’ no officers of the law.”
    â€œWe didn’t want to shoot nobody, ’til that tub of lard there tried to draw on me,” the Kid said. “Now we’re gonna ride on into Lincoln. If you galoots want to dance some more, you’ll know where to find us.”
    Falcon and the Kid holstered their weapons and rode on toward town, while the deputies began to patch up the wounded man’s arm.
    The Kid must have noticed Falcon’s frown, for he asked, “What’s the matter, Falcon? You mad about something?”
    Falcon glanced over at him. “We could have avoided gunplay back there, Kid. You didn’t have to goad that man into going for his guns.”
    The Kid pursed his lips and nodded. “Yeah, I suppose we could have let them take us into town and stick us in that jail until the sheriff decided he wanted to talk to us.”
    â€œIt wouldn’t have gone that far.”
    â€œDamn right it wouldn’t have. I’ll tell you, Falcon, I’ve been in jail twice, an’ I broke out twice. I can’t stand bein’ locked up, caged like some animal, not able to move around.”
    He shook his head, lips pressed tight. “No sir, I don’t ever intend for that to happen again, and if ’n I have to kill somebody to keep from being locked up, then so be it.”
    Falcon watched the Kid as he talked, thinking he was right about the Kid’s eyes. He was a stone-cold killer, never mind the boyish looks and the ever present grin. He would have to watch himself so he wouldn’t get caught up in the Kid’s messes.
    Falcon and the Kid arrived in Lincoln about an hour later. The town wasn’t overly large, consisting of a row of small adobe houses on the west side of the main street, and several larger, more impressive buildings lined up on the eastern side.
    The first of the large buildings on their left had a sign over the door saying La Placita, J.J. Dolan & Co.. It was two stories high and had a large window in the front filled with all manner of ranching implements, along with saddles and boots and clothes.
    â€œDamn,” the Kid said, his eyes wide, “that’s ’bout the biggest general store I ever seen.”
    Falcon glanced at the place as they passed it, thinking the Kid was right. It was a very large building for a general store. He looked up at the second-story, which had a row of windows across the front, showing either offices or living quarters above the store itself.
    The next building they came to was the county courthouse. Since Lincoln was the county seat it, too, was large and impressive. Right next to it was the bank, with a sign over it saying Lincoln County Bank, J.J. Dolan, President.
    Falcon looked farther up the street, wondering if there were any saloons. Chisum had said most of the men in the surrounding area went over to Fort Sumner to gamble. The upstanding citizens of Lincoln were not allowing any gaming houses in their city. The town was fairly busy, with dogs and children running up and down the street, wagons being loaded with supplies in front of stores, and horses being shod at the blacksmith’s small barn farther down the street.
    All in all, the city looked not much different to Falcon than dozens of others he had seen in his travels. It was a more or less typical cow town which served the main purpose of supplying surrounding ranches with supplies, a place for punchers to let off steam when the branding and calving of the herds was done.
    As they walked their mounts down the street, the Kid said, “I’m so hungry my belly must think my throat’s been cut.”
    Falcon removed his hat and sleeved sweat off his forehead. “Me, too. What say we pull up to the hotel over there and see if they’ve got any chow worth eating?”
    The Kid cut his eyes toward Falcon. “Naw, I think