ya want the beast fed."

Lucas paid the man an extra dollar. "Have him saddled and ready."

It was barely past noon when Lucas walked up the street and entered the saloon. Its only customer was an old man.

Lucas ordered a beer. It was warm and tasteless, but it did clear his dry, dust-coated throat.

"Jimmy Durango wuz the fastest draw I ever did see," the old man said to the bartender. "Seen him draw down on the Burk brothers. They weren't no slowpokes, but he got all three of them. He had pearl handle guns. Nicest ones I ever did see."

"Whatever happened to him, Pete?" the bartender asked.

"Dunno. Nobody do. He ain't been seen or heard from in almost a year."

"Kinda strange when you think about it," the bartender added. "Waco Kid disappeared all of a sudden too."

"He's another mean one. He notches his gun every time he kills someone. The West ain't short of gunfighters yet, Jake. Heard tell Lucas Hayes ain't no slowpoke with a gun. Likes to rob banks too."

"I heard he likes to look at the bankers' sad faces while he takes their money," Lucas added.

"Is that so?" the man said. "Can't say I blame him cause banker is jest a fancy name fer a crook."

Lucas smiled faintly and finished his beer. "Need to buy grub," he said.

"Dobsons Store just up the street," the bartender said.

When Lucas returned to the livery, he found the liveryman lying face down, the saddle beside him. Lucas stooped and turned him over. He jerked back. The man wore the same frightened expression as the posse riders had.

"You killed George."

Lucas turned and saw a young man running out of the livery. He picked up the saddle and stepped toward Black. It stepped backward, whinnying loudly.

"Take it easy, boy," Lucas said. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

"Raise your hands, mister."

Lucas looked up. Two men wearing badges had their guns pointed at him.

Like a bolt of lightning, Black side-swiped Lucas, knocking him aside, and ran at the sheriff. It knocked him down and trampled him, amidst his screams. The deputy got off one shot before Black kicked him up against the wall. The deputy fell over like a wet sack. Lucas was certain that the deputy's bullet had hit Black, yet no blood, wound, or evidence of pain was visible.

Lucas heard shouts outside the livery. Black trotted over to him, and he swung onto its back. It bolted out of the livery and raced down the street almost as fast as the hail of bullets that whizzed over Lucas' head. When he dared to glance back, there was no dust in the distance.

He neared the brush where he had hid the saddlebag and pulled hard on Black's mane. It galloped past the brush, ignoring Lucas' effort to stop