He
caught up his horse and rode up the trail toward the desert. On the
mesa-edge he re-cinched his saddle and turned toward the north.
Flores, who with his wife was living at The Spider's place, recognized
him at once and invited him in.
"What hit this here town, anyhow?" queried Pete. "I didn't see a soul
as I come through."
Flores shrugged his shoulders. "The vaqueros from over there"--and he
pointed toward the north--"they came--and now there is but this
left"--and he indicated the saloon. "The others they have gone."
"Cleaned out the town, eh? Reckon that was the T-Bar-T and the boys
from the Blue and the Concho. How'd they come to miss you?"
"I am old--and my wife is old--and after they had drank the
wine--leaving but little for us--they laughed and said that we might
stay and be dam': that we were too old to steal cattle."
"Uh-huh. Cleaned her out reg'lar! How's the senora?"
Flores touched his forehead. "She is thinking of Boca--and no one else
does she know."
"Gone loco, eh? Well, she ain't so bad off at that--seein' as _you're_
livin' yet.
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