on the ground for you. It will give you something to look at and dream about when you get bored.”
The bandit howled obscenities. Midway to his horse the hunter stopped and looked back.
“If I were you, I don’t think I’d try dancing any jigs, Tuco.
The hunter stowed the money into his saddlebags, mounted and rode across the vast field of the dead. At the edge of the cemetery he reined in to look back.
Tuco was teetering wildly on the rail fence, about to lose his balance completely. The bounty-hunter reached down and drew out the army rifle that had come with the stolen horse. He levered a shell into the chamber, took careful aim and fired.
Tuco was falling off the rail. The rope was tightening around his neck when it parted a scant foot above his head. He landed on the ground on his side with an impact that jarred the breath from his lungs.
The hunter slid the gun back into its scabbard and sat watching until he saw Tuco sit up and struggle to his knees, tugg1ng frantically at the thong binding his wrists behind him.
The hunter’s lips moved in a faint smile. He touched the brim of his hat in avague salute.
“The partnership is hereby dissolved,” he murmured, “but it wasn’t too unsuccessful while it lasted.
He turned the horse’s head and rode south without another backward glance.
