“That’s a good idea—a fine idea,” said Shaky. He caught Charlie’s eye, and pointed his brows significantly toward the barroom. “Where to?”
“Away. Old Mex, I guess. Gimme a bid.”
Shaky considered while he chalked his cue. Then he shook his head.
“No. Nice place—but I wouldn’t ever be satisfied there.... Mescaleros held up a wagon train there in 1879—where your pasture is now, halfway between your well and Mason’s Ranch. Killed thirteen men and one woman. I was a kid then, living at Fort Selden. A damn fool took me out with the burial party, and I saw all those mutilated bodies. I never got over it. That’s why I’m Shaky Akins.”
“Why, I thought—” began See uncomfortably.
“No. ’Twasn’t chills. I’m giving it to you straight. I hesitated about telling you. I’ve never told anyone—but there’s a reason for telling you—now—to-night. I lost my nerve. I’m not a man. See, I’ve dreamed of those people ten thousand times. It’s hell!”
Weir’s head appeared at the door again; his face was red and hot.
“You, See! Ain’t you comin’ out to drink?”
“Why, no. We’re playing pool.”
“Well, I must say, you’re not a bit—”