"You must 'a' been practicin' quite a' spell. You handle that smoke-wagon like an ole-timer."
"I ain't advertisin' it."
"Well, it's all right, Pete. Glad I got a front seat. Never figured you was a top-hand with a gun. Now I'm wise. I know enough not to stack up against you."
Pete smiled his slow smile and pushed back his hat. "I reckon you're right about that. I never did no shootin' in company. Ole José Montoya always said to do your practicin' by yourself, and then nobody knows just how you would play your hand."
Bailey frowned and nodded. "Well, seein' as I'm in on it, Pete, I'd kind of like to know myself."
"Why, I'm jest figurin' that some day mebby somebody'll want to hang my hide on the fence. I don't aim to let him."
"Meanin' Gary?"
"The same. I ain't lookin' for Gary—even if he did shoot down Pop Annersley—nor I ain't tryin' to keep out of his way. I'm ridin' this country and I'm like to meet up with him 'most any time. That's all."
"Shucks, Pete! You forget Gary. He sure ain't worth gettin' hung for. Gary ain't goin' to put you down so long as you ride for the Concho. He knows somebody 'd get him. You jest practice shootin' all you like—but tend to business the rest of the time and you'll live longer. You can figure on one thing, if Gary was to get you he wouldn't live to get out of this country."
"You're handin' me your best card," said Pete. "Gary killed Annersley. The law didn't get Gary. And none of you fellas got him. He's ridin' this here country yet. And you was tellin' me to forget him."