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I’ll just grab me some water over at the town well and see if I can find out which direction Tunstall’s ranch is from here.”
    â€œKid,” Falcon said, “it looks like we’re both going to be here for a spell. How about I treat you to some grub, and you can pay me back from your first month’s wages?”
    The Kid shook his head. “Never did much like bein’ beholden to anybody. I can make my own way.”
    As they came up on the hotel, the smell of enchiladas, beans, and rice cooking tickled their noses. The Kid smacked his lips as his mouth watered at the delicious aroma.
    â€œCome on, Kid,” Falcon urged. “I’m flush right now, and like I said, you can pay me back later.”
    The Kid sighed. “Well, all right, but I’m gonna give you my marker so’s there won’t be no mistake about this bein’ a handout or anything.”
    Falcon laughed. “Have it your way, Kid, but hurry up. My stomach’s beginning to growl at the smell of that food.”
    They dismounted and strolled into the hotel lobby, paused a moment to get their bearings, then headed into the main dining room.
    There were six tables spread out across the room, four of them full of cowboys with heads bent over plates shoveling in food and washing it down with pitchers of beer.
    Falcon and the Kid took a corner table and sat with their backs to the walls where they could see the entrance to the room.
    A heavyset Mexican woman wearing a bright red apron walked over to their table. “What would you gentlemens like?”
    â€œBring us a couple of steaks, charred on the outside and bloody in the middle, a plate of enchiladas, some beans and rice, and a handful of tortillas.” He looked at the Kid. “That all right with you?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œAnd a pitcher of some beer, if it’s cold,” Falcon added.
    â€œWe no serve it no other way, señor,” the woman said, grinning and showing a dark gap where her front teeth were missing.
    â€œYou got any lemonade?” Kid asked.
    â€œSi, señor.”
    After she left the Kid explained, “I don’t hardly ever drink alcohol.”
    A few minutes later a young, black teenager brought a pitcher of beer for Falcon and lemonade for the Kid and two glass mugs to their table. After pouring the lemonade, Billy held his glass up and said, “To a new start in a new town, Falcon.”
    Falcon smiled and drank. The beer was cold and tasted good after their hours on the trail. He wiped foam off his mouth, and asked, “You don’t like beer?”
    â€œIt’s not that so much, Falcon. It’s just that I’ve never seen it do no man any good. Most of ’em get a snootful of that stuff and think they’re right handy with a gun. Usually just gets ’em killed.”
    â€œI hope you are able to settle down here, Kid,” Falcon said. “It seems a good town to make a new start in.”
    The Kid’s eyes grew serious. “Yeah, I hope so. I’m tired of moving from place to place. I been on the go since I was a pup, never staying in one town long enough to make no real life for myself. It’s time I settled down and picked me a spot to take root.”
    Their waiter returned with a large tray covered with plates of steaming food, which he set down on the table in front of them. “Time to quit jawin’ and start eatin’,” Billy said.
    As they ate, Falcon let his gaze wander around the room, watching the other cowboys at the surrounding tables. At a table in a far corner there were four men eating and drinking. The man doing most of the talking was tall, with wide shoulders, a barrel chest, and an ample paunch. He was wearing a black leather vest with a silver star on his right breast. He had a loud, strident voice which carried across the room, and his eyes were star packer’s eyes—never still, flitting back and forth around the room