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huge. He could near enough pick me up in one
hand. I had no choice. I shot him and ran. I heard later
that he were gut shot and died screaming that night.”
    Bill falls silent. His story makes sense and sounds
like self-defence. After a minute, he looks up at me and
smiles. “So we’re both killers,” he says, standing up.
“Come on, let’s get the fire going afore the boys get in
from herding.”
    I follow Bill over to the fire pit, deep in thought.
He’s right, we have both killed men, but Bill and I are
different. I’ve spent hours awake at night feeling guilt
at what I’ve done, even though the men I’ve killed were
trying to kill me. Bill doesn’t seem to feel that way.
I couldn’t help noticing a note of pride in his voice
when he was relating the story of shooting Cahill. Once
more, I wonder what I’m getting into.

4
    â€œT hose are good-looking horses, Mr. Tunstall.” I am riding beside Bill and Tunstall behind the nine horses we are herding up to Lincoln to sell. Brewer and four other hands are scattered around the herd.
    â€œThank you,” Tunstall says. “A horse makes living in this land possible. A good horse makes it a pleasure. Your mount’s a good-looking animal.”
    â€œHis name’s Coronado,” I say. I scan the big bay that Tunstall is riding. It’s a magnificent beast. “I think your horse is the best I’ve ever seen.”
    Tunstall smiles at the compliment. “His name’s Dalston, after the place I was born in London. There are very few people who come close to Dalston in my affections.”
    â€œI don’t name my horses,” Bill says sullenly. He’s been in a miserable mood all morning, very different from the happy-go-lucky companion on the trail yesterday. “Ain’t never kept one long enough to need to.”
    I ignore Bill’s comment. “Why are we taking the horses up to Lincoln to sell?” I ask Tunstall.
    â€œNow that’s a much more complicated question than you think. You are aware that McSween and I are setting up a trading and ranching business in opposition to the monopoly that Dolan holds in Lincoln?”
    â€œI am,” I reply. “Bill told me something of it.”
    â€œThen you will know that Dolan has not taken kindly to having opposition. He’s trying everything to discourage us. He’s hired Jesse Evans and his boys, a disreputable gang of cutthroats if I ever saw one, to threaten my men and me. Why, they even tried to provoke me into a gunfight in the main street of Lincoln, as if I was some hired gunman.” Tunstall laughs and I join him. The image of this suave Englishman being drawn into a brutal street fight with some hired killer is just too unlikely.
    â€œWhen he saw he couldn’t drive us out with threats, Dolan resorted to the law, or what passes for it in this remote place where every judge is in Dolan’s pocket.”
    â€œThat snake William Brady too,” Bill mutters under his breath.
    â€œWho’s William Brady?” I ask.
    â€œSheriff in Lincoln,” Tunstall tells me. “Although the title gives him too much honor. He’s little more than one of Dolan’s hired men. Anyway, to get back to the horses, McSween was using the law to help us, so Dolan had one of their tame lawyers draw up a warrant against him, claiming he was in debt to them. It’s nonsense, but it will take time to settle, which is what Dolan wants.
    â€œAccording to the warrant, McSween’s cattle are subject to seizure, but not these horses. I received word yesterday that Brady was coming out to the ranch to seize the cattle, so I thought it best to remove the horses today to avoid any unpleasantness over them. I think it also best if we are not at the ranch when Brady arrives. Some of my men”—Tunstall glances at Bill—“can be a trifle hotheaded under pressure.”
    â€œTurkey