“I sure do thank you for the grub, Mr. Adams,” Red said. “Just call me Clint, Red.” “Okay, Clint.” “Where are you off to now, Red?” “I got business, Clint.” The boy pulled on a dirty cap. “I got business every day.” “Pickpocket business?” “That’s right.” “Aren’t you afraid of being arrested?” Red grinned. “The police can’t catch me, I’m too fast.” “I caught you.” “Yeah, but you’re the Gunsmith. Well, I gotta get goin’.” “Hold on.” “For what?” Red asked, squinting up at Clint. Clint put his hand in his pocket. “I just want to make sure I’ve still got my wallet.” “Aw . . .” Appo frowned at the knock on his door. He had just poured himself a cup of coffee and carried it to the door with him. “Red,” Appo said. “What brings you around here this early?” “Ain’t so early, George,” Red said. “I been up for hours.” “Come on in, then.” Red entered and Appo closed the door. “You want some breakfast?”
