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Clint Adams,” Tarver said, “that’ll take care of the last big mistake I made before I went to prison.”
    â€œAnd it’ll get you a big reputation, right?” Dexter asked. “The man who killed the Gunsmith.”
    â€œThat won’t hurt,” Tarver said. “That won’t hurt at all.”
    Tarver wanted dessert—the other thing he’d missed the most in prison was pie—but Dexter didn’t, so he went to find Barclay and Gerald in the saloon.
    He found them in the third saloon he checked.
    â€œThere you are,” Gerald said. “Come on, have a beer with us.”
    â€œBarclay,” Dexter said, “take a walk.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œA walk!”
    â€œW-where?”
    â€œGo find a whore,” Dexter said. “I don’t care. Just go.”
    â€œFine.”
    Barclay left the saloon. Dexter ordered two beers, pushed one over to Gerald.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” Gerald said.
    â€œA change of plans.”
    â€œWhat kind of change?”
    Dexter drank half his beer before answering.
    â€œI’m not gonna kill Tarver yet.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œHe’s got some interesting things he wants us to do,” Dexter said. “Some new ideas. I want to see how they go first.”
    â€œBut you wanted to kill him because he wasn’t gonna share that forty thousand with you,” Gerald said. “What happened to that?”
    â€œI know,” Dexter said, “but I’ve changed my plans. We’ll just have to wait a while.”
    â€œDon’t wait too long,” Gerald said. “He might realize what you’re plannin’.”
    â€œDon’t worry,” Dexter said, “he won’t.”
    â€œOkay, Dex,” Gerald said. “You’re the boss.”
    â€œThat’s right,” Dexter said, “I am.”

ELEVEN
    Tarver sat and enjoyed his pie. It was apple, his favorite. He had another pot of coffee. He knew he was overdoing it on the things he had missed. He’d eaten many steaks, drank a lot of beer, eaten pie and drank coffee, and he’d been to the whorehouse half a dozen times. It was time to get on with his life.
    He’d learned from hardened criminals in Yuma, men who had been there years before him and would still be there years after he got out. What he had learned had not only made him a better man, but it would make him a better criminal.
    And one of the other things he had learned while in Yuma was how to read men, how to see what they were really thinking when, in fact, they were telling you something else.
    Dexter, his friend and his partner, had something on his mind. And Tarver thought he knew what that was. He knew he was going to have to watch Bart Dexter very closely.
    After one more visit to the local cathouse, he, Dexter, and Gerald would leave in the morning and find two more men. After that, they’d pull a few big jobs to accumulate some money, and then it would start.
    The hunt for Clint Adams.
    Tarver had chosen the same woman each time he went to the whorehouse. Her name was Joy; she was a slender blonde with small breasts and hips, and smooth, pale skin.
    â€œBack again?” she asked as they entered her room. “What’s this, five times?”
    â€œSeven,” he said.
    She sat on the bed, one leg tucked underneath her. Her long hair hung down past her shoulders, and her hard nipples showed beneath her filmy gown.
    â€œI told you,” he said, removing his boots and trousers, “I was in prison.”
    He stood, naked from the waist down, his cock hard, and removed his shirt.
    She reached out and stroked his erection.
    â€œIf you don’t mind me sayin’,” she said, “you’re very gentle in bed for a man who just got out of prison.”
    â€œYou get a lot of cons here?” he asked.
    â€œWe’re not that far from Yuma,” she said. “If they ride east they usually end