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way. Yes, he realized he felt a curious sort of kinship with the young man who couldn’t help swaggering as he walked down the street. It was too damn bad, he caught himself thinking, that Tom Thurston couldn’t have a boy like this to answer summons for help from Katie Rollins.
    As they turned into the brightly lighted saloon, he asked abruptly, “Which way you headed from Marfa, Dusty?”
    â€œI don’t rightly know,” Dusty drawled. “I was sort of headin’ down San Antone way, but I got side-tracked here this mawnin’. Maybe I ain’t in too much of a hurry to move on.” As he spoke, they were walking toward the uncrowded bar and his gaze was sweeping over the room, searching across the tables at the back.
    Pat asked, “Lookin for someone?”
    Dusty gave a little start and then grinned guiltily. “I reckon she ain’t come in yet.” He leaned his elbows on the bar and tipped his hat far back on his head, and Pat said to the bartender, “Set out a bottle an’ three glasses. She?” he asked Dusty as the bartender turned to fill the order.
    Dusty shrugged his wide shoulders with assumed unconcern. “A gal,” he confessed. “Half-Mex, I guess she is. Bought her some drinks this afternoon an’ she said she’d see me here this evenin’. She’s what side-tracked me … mostly.”
    Pat filled his glass and tried to remember back to when a pretty half-Mexican dance-hall girl might have sidetracked him from continuing on a trip.
    He didn’t have to go back too far, he realized guiltily. Only till just before he had met Sally. He emptied his glass and refilled it, asked casually, “You wouldn’t want to be ridin’ south, I don’t reckon?”
    â€œWhy, no,” Dusty said politely, “I reckon not.”
    â€œThere’ll always be more dance-hall girls,” Pat told him.
    The young man grinned widely. “But they won’t all be like Rosa.”
    On the other side of him, Ezra was beginning to go slow on his fourth glass of whisky after gulping down three in a hurry.
    Pat sipped from his second glass and asked, “Where you stayin’ in town?”
    â€œThere’s a hotel across the street. I got room seventeen.”
    â€œBe seein’ you later,” Pat said. “We got to find a steak and some fried potatoes an’ such-like.”
    Dusty said, “Shore. An’ I’ll buy the next one.”
    Pat slid two silver dollars on the bar and the bartender nodded, closing one eye in a slow wink and jerking his head significantly toward Dusty who had turned and was looking over the room again.
    Pat frowned and hesitated. The bartender moved down to the end of the bar toward the door, winking again. He was a fat man with a wart on the end of his nose and with two front teeth missing.
    Pat moved with him to the end of the bar and he leaned forward and asked guardedly, “That young feller a friend of your’n?”
    Pat said, “Yeh.”
    â€œBetter git him outta town ’fore that Rosa makes a plumb fool outta him. I’m tellin’ you, Mister.”
    Pat’s face hardened. “It’s like that, huh?”
    â€œPlenty like that. She’s a hell-cat. Sheriff Davis has got his brand on her but she don’t like bein’ branded. Yore young friend is ridin’ fer trouble if Davis catches on that she’s playin around with him.”
    Pat said, “Thanks,” and went out to join Ezra who had preceded him and heard nothing.
    â€œThere’s a restawrant right ’crost there,” Ezra began, but Pat took his arm firmly and said, “The steak’ll have to wait. I crave to meet up with the sheriff of this town.”

4
    Ezra started to protest, but the four drinks of whisky had put him in a pretty good mood, so he wistfully withdrew his hungry gaze from the restaurant and allowed Pat to lead him along the street.
    A