He rose and went for his hat. Then he extracted a roll of bills from a hip pocket and laid a five-dollar note on the table.
“That meal was worth it,” he said to the girl with a smile.
She shook her head. “I––I couldn’t take it,” she said.
“That’s clean money, miss. I earned it circumventin’ three of the most ornery card sharps in Arizona.”
She continued to shake her head. “You do not understand,” she murmured. “It––it wouldn’t make any difference. We couldn’t take money from a stranger who came to us––hungry. It wouldn’t make any difference who you were.”
“Aw, we need it, sis!” blurted out the boy. “The Coyote’s all right. He wouldn’t lie to us.”
Rathburn laughed and, stepping to the boy, ran his fingers in his hair. “I guess I’ve made a friend,” he said in a wistful voice. Then he picked up the bill on the table and stuffed it into the boy’s pocket. His eyes encountered the poster again and they clouded. He turned away from it.
“Miss, you’ll let me thank you––sure.”
She nodded, retreating a few paces.