Dillon shook his head. “Don’t seem like Joe talked about this place…. We gotta keep an eye open, but I guess they won’t.”
Roxy sat on the side of the well. He lit a cigarette. Dillon could see his hands shaking. “We’re takin’ an awful risk stayin’ here,” he said at last.
Dillon put his foot on the edge of the well. “Where the hell else can we go?” he asked irritably.
Roxy shrugged. He didn’t know. They remained there some little time discussing things but getting no farther, then impatiently Roxy got up. “I guess I’ll go an’ fix that fence. I’m almost through.”
Dillon watched him go. When Roxy had disappeared round the side of the shack, Dillon saw Chrissie come out. She stood looking round for Roxy. Dillon kept his eyes off her face, and eyed her over from her neck down. A sudden tightness gripped him across his chest. He wandered slowly over to her, going slow so as not to startle her. She looked at him without interest.
“I’m goin’ shootin’,” he said when he reached her. “Suppose you come along an’ watch.”
Her face brightened a little. “I want Roxy,” she said. “Where’s Roxy?”
Dillon said as patiently as he could, “Roxy’s fixin’ the old fence somewhere.” He took his gun from his holster and pretended to look at it. The gleaming barrel attracted Chrissie’s attention. She moved forward, peering at it.
“Some gun, ain’t it?” Dillon said, showing it to her.
Chrissie had forgotten Roxy. She stood with her head on one side, her eyes longingly fixed on the gun.