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told Valdez. “You can’t blame the marshal for not wanting to ride you all the way down there.”

Valdez looked up.

“It’s so far,” Lyall Quinlan said. He looked toward the window at the end of the hallway, then back to Valdez. “I appreciate you telling the marshal I was awake all night. I think something like that sets pretty good with him.”

Bobby Valdez looked at Lyall curiously. Then his expression softened to a smile, as if he’d suddenly become aware of a new interest, and he said, “Anytime, friend.”

When Bohannon came back he sent Lyall across the street to the Regent to get Valdez’s breakfast. After he’d given the tray to Valdez, Bohannon deputized him, but mentioned how it was a temporary appointment until the Citizens Committee passed on it. “Now, if you was to keep an extra-special eye on Brother Valdez, I’d have to recommend you as fit, wouldn’t I?” He patted Lyall’s shoulder and said now was as good a time as any to start the new appointment. “We’ll see how you handle yourself alone.”

Lyall thought it was a funny way to do things, but he’d have plenty of time for sleep later on. When opportunity knocks on the door you got to open it, he told himself. So he stayed on at the jail, sitting downstairs this time, until midafternoon when Bohannon came back.

“Now get yourself some shut-eye, boy,” the marshal told him “so you’ll be in fit shape for tonight.”

Lyall’s mother told him they were making a fool out of him, but Lyall didn’t have time to argue. He just said this was what he always wanted to do—a hell of a lot better than working behind a store counter, though he didn’t use quite those words. Lyall’s mother used mother arguments, but finally there was nothing she could do but shake her head and let him go to bed.

HE WENT BACK on duty at nine, sitting in the cane-bottom chair, not hearing a sound from Barney Groom downstairs. Bobby Valdez was more talkative. He talked about horses and girls and the terrible fact

that he hadn’t gotten to church that day; then made a big to-do admiring Lyall for the way he could go so long without sleep. That was fine.

But pretty soon Bobby Valdez went to sleep and that night Lyall walked up and down the little hallway even more than he had the first night. Two or three times he almost went to sleep, but he kept moving and blinking his eyes. He found a way of propping the shotgun between his leg and the chair arm, so that the trigger guard dug into his thigh and that kept him awake whenever he sat down to rest.

In the morning Bohannon came up the stairs quietly, but Lyall heard him and said, “Hi, Mr. Bohannon,” when the marshal tiptoed in.

Lyall slept all day Monday and after that he was all right, not having any trouble keeping awake that night. Bobby Valdez talked to him until late and that helped.

Tuesday he ate his supper at the Regent Café before going to work. He mentioned weather to Elodie and how the food was getting better, but didn’t once refer to the silver deputy star on his shirtfront. Elodie tried to be unconcerned, too, but finally she just had to ask him, and Lyall answered, “Why, sure, Elodie, I’ve been a deputy marshal since last Saturday. Didn’t you know that?”

Elodie had to describe how Bobby Valdez came in for dinner the night he shot Tanner. “He sat right on that very stool you’re on and ate tacos like he didn’t have a worry in the world. Real calm.”

Lyall said, “Uh-huh, but he’s kind of a little squirt, ain’t he?” and walked out casually, knowing Elodie was watching after him with her mouth open.

TUESDAY NIGHT Valdez told Lyall how his being in the cell had all come about—how he’d started out an honest vaquero down in Sonora, but got mixed up with some unprincipled men who were chousing other people’s cows. Bobby Valdez said, by the name of a saint, he didn’t know anything about it, but the next thing the rurales were chasing him across the border. About a year later, in Contention, Arizona, he killed a man. It was in self-defense