"Don't hear anything of them. We've made a clean getaway, looks like. But they'll keep the wires warm after us—if Mendoza is dead."
The boy broke down, sobbing. "My God, I couldn't help it. What else could I do? He was shooting when I fired."
"Sure he was, but that won't help you if they take you back to Mexico. My advice is for you to get into a hole and draw it in after you, for a few days anyhow. Where do you live?"
"At Los Robles—when I'm at home."
"Then you are Phil Seymour?"
"Who told you?" flashed the boy.
"I board with your mother. I'm a rider for the Lunar Company."
"Then you know Chad Harrison. Chad will get me out of this. He'll fix it."
"How'll he fix it?" demanded Yeager bluntly. "Back there across the line they're going to call this by an ugly name—if Mendoza cashes in his checks. Harrison can't fix murder, can he?"
A film of hard wariness covered the eyes of the boy as he looked across in the darkness at the other man. "He's got friends," was the dry, noncommittal answer that came to the range-rider after a moment's distinct pause.