"Here, smoke one of mine for a change. About that picture. I met Jim
Waring in Las Cruces. He was a kid then, but a comer. Had kind of
light, curly hair. His face was as smooth as a girl's. He wasn't what
you'd call a dude, but his clothes always looked good on him. Wimmin
kind of liked him, but he never paid much attention to them. He worked
for me as deputy a spell, and I never hired a better man. But he
wouldn't stay with one job long. When Las Cruces got quiet he pulled his
freight. Next I heard of him he was married and living in Sonora. It
didn't take Diaz long to find out that he could use him. Waring was a
wizard with a gun--and he had the nerve back of it. But Waring quit
Diaz, for Jim wasn't that kind of a killer. I guess he found plenty of
work down there. He never was one to lay around living on his reputation
and waiting for nothing to happen. He kept his reputation sprouting new
shoots right along--and that ain't all joke, neither."

"Speakin' in general, could he beat you to it with a gun, Pat?"

"Speaking in general--I reckon he could."

"Them rurales are kind of careless--ridin' over the line and not
stoppin' by to make a little explanation."

The lank man nodded. "There's a time coming when they'll do more than
that. That old man down south is losing his grip. I don't say this for
general information. And if Jim Waring happens to ride into town, just
tell him who you are and pinch him for smuggling; unless I see him
first."

"What did I ever do to you?"