"Here, too," said the collector. "I've put by enough to get a little
place up north--cattle--and take it easy. That's why I stuck it out down
here. Had any word from your folks recent?"

"Not for ten years."

"And that boy trailing with you?"

"Oh, he's just a kid I picked up in Sonora. No, my own boy is straight
American, if he's living now."

"You might stop by at Stacey, on the Santa Fé," said the collector
casually. "There's some folks running a hotel up there that you used to
know."

Waring thanked him with a glance. "We don't need a drink and the sun is
down. Where do you eat?"

"We'll get Jack to rustle some grub. You and the boy can bunk in the
office. I'll take care of your horse."

"Thanks, Pat. But you spoke of going north. I wouldn't if I were you.
They'll get you."

"I had thought of that. But I'm going to take that same chance. I'm
plumb sick of the border."

"If they do--" And Waring rose.