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“Act like you’ve got some sense once in a while,” Boynton said now. He had hired Cass the week before as an extra night guard—the day they brought in Obie Ward—but he was certain now he would not keep Cass. Tomorrow he would look around for somebody else. Somebody who didn’t talk so much and didn’t have such a proud opinion of himself.

“All I’m saying is he don’t look so tough to me,” Cass repeated.

Boynton ignored him. He looked at the young man, Pete Given, standing next to Hanley now with his eyes closed, and he heard his deputy say, “The boy’s asleep on his feet.”

“He looks familiar,” Boynton said.

“We had him here about three months ago.”

“Same thing?”

Hanley nodded. “Delivered his horses, then stopped off at the Continental. Remember, his wife come here looking for him. He was here five days because the judge was away and she got here court day. Pretty little thing with light-colored hair? Not more’n seventeen. Come all the way from Dos Cabezas by herself.”

“Least he had sense enough to get a good woman,” Boynton said. He seemed to hesitate. Then: “You and I’ll take him up.” He slipped his revolver from its holster and placed it on the desk. He took young Pete Given’s arm then and raised it up over his shoulder, glancing at his deputy again. “Hanley, you come behind with your shotgun.”

Cass watched them go through the door and down the hall to the back of the jail to the outside stairway, and he was thinking: Won’t even wear his gun up there, he’s so scared. That’s some man to work for, won’t even wear his gun when he goes in Ward’s cell. He shook his head and said the name again, contemptuously. Obie Ward. He’d pull his tough act on me just once.

PETE GIVEN OPENED his eyes. Lying on his right side his face was close to the wall and for a moment, seeing the chipped and peeling adobe and smelling the stale mildewed smell of the mattress which did not have a cover on it, he did not know where he was. Then he remembered, and he closed his eyes again.

The sour taste of whiskey coated his mouth and he lay very still, waiting for the throbbing to start in his head. But it did not come. He raised his head and moved closer to the wall and felt the edge of the mattress cool and firm against his cheek. Still the throbbing did not come. There was a dull tight feeling at the base of his skull, but not the shooting sharp pain he had expected. That was good. He moved his toes and could feel his boots still on and there was no blanket covering him.

They just dumped you here, he thought. He made saliva in his mouth and kept swallowing until his mouth did not feel sticky and some of the sour taste went away. Well, what did you expect?

It’s about all you deserve, buddy. No, it’s more’n you deserve.

You’ll learn, huh?

He thought of his wife, Mary Ellen, and his eyes closed tighter and for a moment he tried not to think of anything.

How do I do this? How do I get something good, then kick it away like it’s not worth anything?

What’ll you tell her this time?

“Mary Ellen, honest to gosh, we just went in to get one drink. We sold the horses and got something to eat and figured one drink before starting back. Then Art said one more. All right, just one, I told him. But, you know, we were relaxed—and laughing. That’s hard work running a thirty-horse string for five days. Harry got in a blackjack game. The rest of us were just sitting relaxed. When you’re sitting like that the time seems to go faster. We had a few drinks. Maybe four—five at the most. Like I said, we were laughing and Art was telling some stories. You know Art, he keeps talking—then there’s a commotion over at the blackjack table and we see Harry haulin’ off at this man. And—”

And Mary Ellen will say, “Just like the last time,” not raising her voice or seeming mad, but she’ll keep looking you right in the eye.

“Honey, those things just happen. I can’t help it. And it wasn’t just like last time.”

“The result’s the same,” she’ll say. “You work hard for three months to earn decent money then pay it all out in fines and damages.”

“Not all