a sure thing, and without no compunctions whatsoever. The bad
man takes you unawares, when you're sleepin', or talkin', or
drinkin', or lookin' to see what for a day it's goin' to be,
anyway. He don't give you no show, and sooner or later he's
goin' to get you in the safest and easiest way for himself.
There ain't no romance about that.

And, until you've seen a few men called out of their shacks for a
friendly conversation, and shot when they happen to look away; or
asked for a drink of water, and killed when they stoop to the
spring; or potted from behind as they go into a room, it's pretty
hard to believe that any man can he so plumb lackin' in fair play
or pity or just natural humanity.

As you boys know, I come in from Texas to Buck Johnson's about
ten year back. I had a pretty good mount of ponies that I knew,
and I hated to let them go at prices they were offerin' then, so
I made up my mind to ride across and bring them in with me. It
wasn't so awful far, and I figured that I'd like to take in what
New Mexico looked like anyway.

About down by Albuquerque I tracked up with another outfit headed
my way. There was five of them, three men, and a woman, and a
yearlin' baby. They had a dozen hosses, and that was about all I
could see. There was only two packed, and no wagon. I suppose
the whole outfit--pots, pans, and kettles--was worth five
dollars. It was just supper when I run across them, and it
didn't take more'n one look to discover that flour, coffee,
sugar, and salt was all they carried. A yearlin' carcass,
half-skinned, lay near, and the fry-pan was, full of meat.