"Then what some people say is true. I'd never believed it till now." She laughed. "I suppose I should be shocked, but I'm not."
He smiled guardedly. "Well, in those days they only hunted cattle. Until toward the last." He paused a moment, then looked at her sharply. "But, yes, that's who I was with. However, Katy, don't credit quite everything you may hear about me from the Walronds."
"But you left them. At least that tells me something about you." She held his hand lightly against her lips. The calluses along the palm were still soft from the water. "Why did you finally decide to go?"
He pulled her next to him and kissed her on the mouth, twice. Then he ran his fingers down her body, across her smooth waist, till he reached the mound of light chestnut hair at her thighs. "I've never told anyone, Katy. I'm not even sure I want to tell you now." He continued with his fingertips, on down her skin.
"Why won't you tell me?" She passed her hand across his chest. Beneath the bronze she could feel the faint pumping of his heart. "I want to know all about you, to have all that to think about when you're gone. We're so much alike, in so many ways. I feel I have a right to know even the smallest little things about you."
"I tried to shoot one of them. One of the Cow-Killers." He turned and ripped off a blade of grass, then crumpled it in his hand and looked away.
"Well, I'm sure that's not the first time such a thing has happened. I expect you had good reason. After all . . ."
"The difference was who I tried to kill." He rolled over and stared up at the vacant sky. It was deep blue, flawless.
"What do you mean? Who was it?"
"You probably wouldn't know." He glanced at her. "Ever hear of a man who goes by the name of Jacques le Basque?"