All characters in this book are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 1958 by Jonas Ward All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof.
Printed in the United States of America ONE T he little old man and the big young one sat side by side on the top of the mountain, faces turned thoughtfully toward the rugged Big Bend country directly below, backs disdainful of the magnificent sunset being staged over the whole state of Chihuahua.
They sat together without speaking, the one with his ancient and fragrant Meerschaum, the other with his diminishing sack of Bull Durham, and soon the moonless night began closing in on them and the mountain and all the borderland like some softly closing door. Then it was pitch black, and something he saw made the young one shift his wide shoulders restlessly.
"Damn it all, Fargo, you did it again," he growled.
Surprise made the old man's pipe glow brightly.
"Did what again, Buchanan?" he inquired.
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