around again when they didn’t recognize his face. Lester headed for the bar and used both hands to prop himself up against it.
“Looks like you’ve already had your fill, mister,” the barkeep said. “Did Bob already kick you outta his place?”
“Been riding a long time, is all,” Lester rasped. Having remained silent since the last time he’d talked to Nick, Lester didn’t realize how scratchy his voice would be. Those last few words felt as bad as they sounded and scraped against his throat like nails. After clearing his throat, Lester asked, “Can I have some water?”
“Beer’s the closest we’ve got.”
“You can’t find any water?”
The barkeep let out a beleaguered sigh and told him, “I’ll charge you for beer.”
Before he agreed, Lester patted his pockets to confirm what he already knew. “I don’t have any money.”
“Then you won’t be drinking.” Taking a moment to look at the wretched sight in front of him, the barkeep leaned forward and said, “I can give you a loan, but you’ll have to pay the interest or work it off here. That’s the best I can do.”
“I…won’t be here long enough.”
“Then stop taking up the space at my goddamn bar.”
Lester turned and left the saloon. On his way out, he heard a few jokes being made at his expense but was too tired to care much about that. In fact, he didn’t even care what folks thought when he walked over to the same trough his horse was using and stuck his head into the warm water. It tasted bitter and more than a little salty, but it was still water and it went down just fine. When he pulled his head back up again, Lester smacked his lips as some of the grit in his throat was replaced by other, somewhat less scratchy, grit.
Walking over to his horse, Lester reached up to his saddle horn but didn’t have the strength to pull himself up. Instead, he let out a breath and rested his head for a moment upon the battered leather. That’s when he heard the saloon door swing open and someone step outside.
“Hey,” the man who’d walked out of the saloon said. “What are you doing here?”
Lester savored the few moments of rest without removing his forehead from the saddle. “I’m leaving right now,” he groaned. “Just give me a minute.”
“Is that you, Lester?”
Lester’s eyes snapped open, but he still kept his head in place. He thought of who would know his name and the first two possibilities made his stomach clench. Then he remembered where he was and where he was headed. He also realized that the voice didn’t sound like either Nick or Kinman.
Slowly turning his head, Lester saw a young man with a thick head of dark blond hair staring back at him. His face was clean shaven, exposing its familiar curves. “Pat?” Lester croaked.
“Sure enough, Cousin. What brings you all the way out here? Still runnin’ from that Texan whose horse you stole?”
Lester didn’t smile until he’d reached out to place both hands upon his cousin’s shoulders. “That really is you, Pat.”
“Sure it is. Who else would it be?”
“I’ll tell you about it later. Is Wesley’s place a few miles south of here?”
Pat looked at him and shook his head. “It’s a few miles west, just like it’s always been.”
Now, Lester gave his cousin a heartfelt hug. “Thank God I found you.”
TWENTY-THREE
Lester and Pat rode to a small homestead that consisted of a two-floor house with a porch that wrapped all the way around it and a barn that looked to be brand new. In fact, considering how clean and well maintained the barn was, it seemed as though Lester’s cousins preferred horses to people.
A man and two women sat on the porch in front of the house. The man was obviously Wesley, but he’d cut his dark blond hair down to coarse stubble and let his beard grow down to well over a foot in length. His face was a little more weather-beaten and his teeth were a bit more yellow, but it was still the same old Wesley. Lester remembered his older cousin as a burly, rough-looking man with a voice that boomed like a cannon whenever he opened his mouth. Although Wesley’s appearance had changed a bit since the last time, his mannerisms sure hadn’t.
“I’ll be pickled in rat piss!” Wesley shouted as he hobbled forward. “What the hell are you doin’ here?”
“That’s the same thing I asked him,” Pat said as he climbed down from his saddle.
“And what’d he say?” Wesley asked.
“Nothin’ yet.”
“Then shut your hole and let the man speak. Maybe he’d like somethin’ to drink first.”
Lester’s eyes widened and he practically flew down off of his horse. “That would be fine!”
Holding his arms out like a magician who’d just performed a trick, Wesley said, “You see, Pat? The man needs to wet his whistle. Go inside and fetch him something to drink.”
“I’m taking the horses to the barn first,” Pat declared.
Wesley patted the horses on their noses and scratched them lovingly behind the ears. Turning to glance at the women behind him, he grunted. “Fetch us somethin’ to drink!”
The older of the two women got up and straightened out her faded yellow skirt. She was probably somewhere in her forties, but wore her years as if every last one of them had been a trial. “I just made some lemonade.”
“Then go get it! Damn! How many times do I need to ask?”
She nodded and put on a thin smile. Looking to the men, she said, “It’s good to see you again, Lester.”
Wesley’s voice thundered loud enough to rattle the dirty glass in the windowpanes. “Just get it, bitch!”
Neither of the women reacted to the tone in Wesley’s voice. The older one headed into the house, while the younger one remained on the porch to continue the knitting that had held her attention since before Lester’s arrival.
“Last I heard, you were runnin’ from some Mexican about a stolen horse,” Wesley said.
Lester’s eyes were focused upon the front door of the house as he replied, “It was a Texan.”
“Oh,” Wesley said with a wince. “I wouldn’t have done that.”
“I know, I know.” When he saw the door swing open again, Lester stepped onto the porch and took the glass from the woman’s hand. “Thanks, Ann.”
Before she could finish saying, “You’re welcome,” the older woman was refilling the glass Lester had already drained. She tipped a pitcher she carried in her other hand and smiled as Lester drank that helping just as quickly as he had the first one.
Refreshed, Lester blinked and looked around as if he’d just woken up. “Did you find that grave?” he asked.
“What grave?” Wesley asked.
Lester shook his head wearily. “You know the one I mean.”
Shooing his wife back into the house, Wesley replied, “Yeah, we found it. So what?”
“Was the money in there? What about the jewels?”
Narrowing his eyes, Wesley leaned forward like a dog guarding its territory. “You ain’t in line for one cent of that money, family or not. Me and Pat found it. Me and Pat dug it up. Me and Pat pried it out of that dead man’s hands.”
“Good Lord,” the younger woman whispered as she set down her knitting needles and crossed herself.
By this time, Pat had returned from the barn and was close enough to listen in. “Keep quiet, Stephanie. You don’t seem so picky when you’re wearing that new necklace I gave you.”
The younger woman was thin and had a narrow, somewhat angular face. Her skin was obviously accustomed to being pale, but had recently been burned after too much sun. Wisps of hair flew from the rest that was tied
