now I'll talk straight or lie to you? You ain't throwed
any big scare into me yet"--and Andy stooped and caught up his hat and
thrust his finger through the hole in the crown--"because I ain't done
nothin' to be scared about. I ain't shot nobody and I ain't seen
nobody get shot. Cotton could 'a' told you that."

"That's right," asserted Houck reluctantly. "White here had nothin' to
do with the shootin'. Cotton said that. We lost some time trailin'
you"--Houck turned to Andy--"but we don't aim to lose any more. Which
way did young Pete ride?"

Andy laughed. "You would say I lied if I told you. But I'm goin' to
tell you straight. Young Pete took the old Ranger Trail south, through
the timber. And I want to tell you gentlemen he was goin' like hell
a-smokin' when I seen him last. Mebby you don't believe that? And
there's somethin' else--that old Ranger Trail forks three times this
side of Cienegas--and she forks twice afore she crosses the line.
She's a dim trail when she's doin' her best acrost the rocks, and
they's places in her where she's as blind as a dead ox. Water is as
scarce as cow-punchers at a camp-meetin' and they ain't no feed this
side of Showdown. And Showdown never tore its shirt tryin' to be
polite to strangers. I been there. 'Course, when it comes to rustlers
and cardsharps and killers--but you fellas know how that is. I--"

"Come on, boys," said Houck, reining round. "White here is puttin' up
a talk to hold us--and Young Pete's usin' the time."

Andy watched them ride away, a queer expression lighting his face.
"They hate like the Ole Scratch to believe me--and they are hatin'
themselves for havin' to."

He pulled off Pete's hat and turned it over, gazing at the two little
round holes curiously. "Pete, old scout," he said, smiling
whimsically, "here's hopin' they never come closer to gettin' you than
they did to gettin' me. Keep a-ridin'--for you sure got to be that
'Ridin' Kid from Powder River' this journey--and then some."

Andy turned the black sombrero round in his hands. "All this here
hocus comes of the killin' of a old man that never lifted a finger
against nobody--and as game a kid as ever raked a hoss with a spur.
But one killin' always means more. I ain't no gunman--or no killer.
But, by cracky! some of my ideas has changed since I got that hole in
my hat. I wisht I'd 'a' rode with Pete. I wouldn't ask nothin' better
right now than to stand back to back with him,