Hawk took note of the man at the other end of the bar, leaning on one elbow, a whiskey glass in his hand, having a conversation with Dinah Belle Bodine. They both paused and looked him over as well. He had to wonder if he was one of the men he trailed. He had no way of identifying any of them but Tater, whom he had seen—and he had a description of Booth. Donald Lewis had described him as a fairly impressive man with a thick mustache, groomed to curl up on the ends. This man at the bar had no mustache. “Howdy, stranger,” Dinah Belle said. “What’ll it be?” Unlike her husband, she didn’t recall having seen Hawk before.

“I’ll have a drink of whiskey,” Hawk said, “and another one for my friend here.”

She leaned aside to look behind him. “Jacob Woodley,” she announced sarcastically. “The last time you was in here, your grandson had to come drag you out.”

“Never mind your sweet-talkin’,” the old man said. “Pour my drink.” He licked his lips in anticipation. Noticing, Hawk realized he may have made a mistake by inviting Jacob for a drink. Maybe Thomas was not going to appreciate the gesture. He remembered the boy telling his grandpa to just go in the store. Evidently, he meant for him not to go into the bar.

Thinking it was too late to stop the old man now, Hawk was to find it even more difficult when Booth greeted them. “Howdy, stranger,” Booth Corbin said, still studying the tall man with the hawk feather in his hat. “What brings you to Wolf Creek?” Before Hawk could answer, Booth told Dinah Belle to pour them another drink. Jacob reached for his while she was still pouring.

“That better do for me and my friend,” Hawk quickly told her. Then back to Booth, he said, “Much obliged. I’m just passin’ through. You live around here?”

“No, I’m just passin’ through, same as you,” Booth said. He was thinking of the description Tater had given them of the man who shot Blue Davis—big man, wearing a buckskin shirt. Tater didn’t say anything about a feather in his hat, but Booth doubted Tater was close enough to see that. Even without that detail, he felt this was Blue’s killer, and the man who was now chasing him. The thing that didn’t make sense, however, was the little old drunk with him. Maybe it just appeared they were riding together.

“I reckon a lotta people pass through Wolf Creek, don’t they, ma’am?” Hawk asked Dinah Belle. “Your husband said a party of four men just rode through a day or so ago.” He looked back at Booth. “You mighta seen ’em.”

“Nope,” Booth said with a smile. “I reckon I just missed ’em.”