Two for Morgan. Florentino Cruz - Indian Charlie - was second. After he betrayed his friends John turned his horse, scornful. The man gibbered, pathetic - nothing.

"Just what did they give you? For killing my brother?" Wyatt's tone conversational, knuckles white.

He dangled something glittering. "twenty-five dollar silver watch."

"I'll count to three, then pull my gun and kill you. You can pull yours any time.

The man made a frantic spasmic reach. Wyatt killed him.

John's eyes widened, his lips parted. He rode with Wyatt, hand and heart. After Cruz they offered no more questions, no more chances.

Year: 1882
Hot trail air. Dust. Wyatt had been ahead, John following Texas Jack whom he'd recruited from his old outlaw days. A friend.

Across the arroyo, then gunfire ripping the world apart. Crazy to ride into it. John's life turned on that small rational thought. Wyatt was ahead, riding into it. Texas Jack's horse was cut down. John stayed long enough to help him up behind his saddle. But Wyatt rode purposefully straight into the fusillade.

Afterwards John regretted, offered to ride back with Wyatt, kill them all. He'd rallied belatedly. Was it that which defined his last five years alone?

Year: 1882


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