But the hours passed and the miles slipped by, and still I rode along. The plain was immense and empty, and this time we had no Joe Lovelady to guide us. Billy was no plainsman, nor was I—there was a good chance we’d miss the boys entirely and end up in Denver or somewhere. Billy Bone was impatient, and not particularly firm of purpose—if we missed the cabins on the first pass, he might give up. Also, there was the possibility I could spot the cabins first and steer him around them. It seemed the likeliest way of thwarting the murders.

We camped that night on the Cimarron River, this time with no biscuits to eat. We had not seen so much as a rabbit all day—only a few hawks and buzzards, soaring high. Both of us were very hungry.

“Let’s eat the rest of the pills,” Billy said.

“I don’t know if it’s wise,” I said. “Some of these pills have been in Cecily’s father’s medicine chest for over twenty years. They’re pretty old pills.”

“I’d rather eat an old pill than nothing,” Billy said.

I gave him a handful and he munched them slowly, looking increasingly unhappy.

“It’s times like this that I miss Joe,” he said. “You’re no better than I am at rustling grub, Sippy.”

I decided to hold off on the pills myself, but after about an hour my resolve weakened and I poured myself a handful. For the second time on our travels together I joined Billy Bone in making a meal of pills.

4.

That night I heard a strange sound, persistent enough to wake me. I raised up on an elbow to see what it was. A heavy drizzle was falling. The campfire had begun to sputter, and Billy Bone sat beside it, sobbing like a beaten child.

“What is it, Billy?” I asked.

“I hate it when it rains,” he said. “Next it’ll start lightning and I’ll see the Death Dog out there.”

“This is just a sprinkle,” I said. “It’s not really a storm.”

He looked at me miserably.

“Nobody likes a person like me, Sippy,” he said. “I’m just alone. I was always alone. There ain’t really no place for me. I wish they’d just let me fall. Joe fell, and I bet he’s peaceful.”

“Joe liked you,” I reminded him. “Katie likes you. I like you.”

“I think she liked Joe better,” Billy said, after a minute.

“No, Katie loves you,” I said. “I know she was fond of Joe, but she loves you.”

“It don’t matter, I’m still alone,” Billy said hopelessly.

“What about Cecily Snow?” I asked. When Billy’s spirits sank to a certain depth, one would say anything to try and elevate them even an inch.

“Oh, Snow’s probably forgotten all about me by now,” he said, moving closer to the fire.