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HE WAS SQUATTING on a hump that jutted out from the slope, just above their heads and a dozen or so feet behind them, and he looked as if he’d been sitting there all the time. When he looked at him, Fallis thought of a scavenger bird perched on the bloated roundness of a carcass.

It was his head and the thinness of his frame that gave that impression. His dark hair was cropped close to his skull, brushed forward low on his forehead and coming to a slight point above his eyebrows. The thin hair pointed down, as did the ends of a shadowy mustache that was just starting to grow, lengthening the line of his face, a face that was sallow complexioned and squinting against the brightness of the afternoon.

He jumped easily from the hump, his arms outstretched and a pistol in each hand, though he wore only one holster on his hip.

Fallis watched him open-mouthed. He wore a faded undershirt and pants tucked into knee-high boots. A string of red cotton was knotted tight to his throat above the opening of the undershirt. And with it all, the yellowish death’s-head of a face. Fallis watched because he couldn’t take his eyes from the man. There was a compelling arrogance about his movements and the way he held his head that made Fallis stare at him. And even with the shabbiness of his dress, it stood out. It was there in the way he held his pistols. Fallis pictured a saber-slashing captain of cavalry. Then he saw a black-bearded buccaneer.

“I remember when Rondo was in the lock-up at Fort Thomas.” His voice was crisp, but low and he extra-spaced his words. “That was a good spell before you rode me to Yuma, wasn’t it?”

Patman shook his head. The surprise had already left his face. He shook his head wearily as if it was all way above him. He said, “If you got any more men up there that I policed, get ’em down and let me hear it all at once.” He shook his head again. “This is a real day of surprises. I can’t say I ever expected to see you again, De Sana.”

“Then what are you doing here?” The voice was cold-clear, but fell off at the end of the question as if he had already made up his mind why they were there.

Patman saw it right away.

It took Fallis a little longer because he had to fill in, but he understood now, looking at De Sana and then to Patman.

Patman’s voice was a note higher. “You think we’re looking for you?”

“I said,” De Sana repeated, “then what are you doing here?”

“Hell, we’re not tracking you! We were mustered out last week. We’re pointing toward West Texas for a range job, or else sign for contract buffalo hunters.”

De Sana stared, but didn’t speak. His hands, with the revolving pistols, hung at his sides.

“What do I care if you broke out of the Territory prison?” Patman shouted it, then seemed to relax, to calm himself. “Listen,” he said, “we’re both mustered out. Dave here has got one hitch in, and I’ve got more years behind me than I like to remember. But we’re out now and what the army does is its own damn business. And what you do is your business. I can forget you like that.” He snapped his fingers. “’Cause you don’t mean a thing to me. And that dust-eatin’ train ride from Willcox to Yuma, I can forget that too, ’cause I didn’t enjoy it any more than you did even if you thought then you weren’t going to make the return trip. You’re as bad as Rondo here. You think ’cause I was train guard it was my fault you got sent to Yuma. Listen. I treated you square. There were some troopers would have kicked your face in just on principle.”

De Sana moistened his lower lip with his tongue, idly, thinking about the past and the future at the same time. A man has to believe in something, no matter what he is. He looked at the two men on the horses and felt the weight of the pistols in his hands. There was the easy way. He looked at them watching him uneasily, waiting for him to make a move.

“Going after a range job, huh?” he said almost inaudibly.

“That’s right. Or else hunt buffalo. They say the railroad’s paying top rate, too,” Patman added.

“How do I know,” De Sana said slowly,