Young Pete was not to know of this until long after the knowledge could
have had any value in shaping his career. Bailey, with two of his men,
traced Pete as far as Showdown, where the trail went blind, ending with
The Spider's apparently sincere assertion that he knew nothing whatever
of Peters whereabouts.
Paradoxically, those very qualities which won him friends now kept Pete
from those friends. The last place toward which he would have chosen
to ride would have been the Concho--and the last man he would have
asked for help would have been Jim Bailey. Pete felt that he was doing
pretty well at creating trouble for himself without entangling his best
friends.
"Got to kill to live," he reiterated.
"Como 'sta, senor?" Old Flores had just stepped from behind the
crumbling 'dobe wall of the stable.
"Well, it ain't your fault I ain't a-furnishin' a argument for the
coyotes."
"The senor would insult Boca. He was drunk," said Flores.
"Hold on there! Don't you go cantelopin' off with any little ole idea
like that sewed up in your hat. _Which_ senor was drunk?"
Flores shrugged his shoulders.
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