That remark brought Booth’s head up abruptly. He dropped his bedroll on the bed and straightened up to his full height. “You’d best be careful, old man. You’re about to let your tongue get you in trouble. You weren’t there. You don’t know what happened. You’d do well to just leave it at that.”

Mutt wasn’t satisfied to leave it at that. His first thought had been that Booth had a yellow streak down his back. But on second thought, it occurred to him that Booth was now the sole possessor of whatever score the gang had made that put them on the run. It must have been enough money to cause this fellow, Hawk, to stick on his trail like stink on a sow. He recalled Booth’s remark that Hawk had Tater’s share and should have been satisfied with that. Mutt decided that he should be compensated for the loss of his son. “You fixin’ to leave?” Mutt asked again.

“I reckon I ain’t got much choice,” Booth said. “Hawk’s got too many friends in this town. Every place I go the people alibi for him, don’t nobody know a thing about him, so they say. It was just bad luck we picked a town to light in where he had so many friends.” He smiled smugly and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll pay you for what me and Jesse both owe you.”

“I’m figurin’ you owe me a helluva lot more’n that,” Mutt replied. “And I’m pretty sure you can afford it. You owe me a cut of that money you’re settin’ on, now that there ain’t nobody left to split it with.”

“What in the hell makes you think that?” Booth responded. “What money I’ve got is mine alone, same as it would be if I was the one got killed and Jesse ended up with the money. I don’t owe you squat. You’re lucky I’m willin’ to pay you for what we used in this rattrap you call a saloon.”

“You owe me for the life of my son,” Mutt insisted. “It was on account of you and Jesse wantin’ somebody to do your killin’ for you ’cause you were too yeller to do the job yourself. You coulda told me how dangerous that man is.” He paused and waited for Booth’s reply. When there was none other than the same contemptuous smile, he asked, “How much money did you boys take from that bank? It musta been a helluva lot.”

With a calm voice and a smile still on his face, Booth said, “It wasn’t a bank holdup. It was a mule train with a bunch of Bible-thumpin’ Quakers. They were carryin’ thirty-one thousand and three hundred dollars with ’em, to be exact, hopin’ to get to the promised land.”

“That was you,” Mutt exclaimed, “killed all them folks!”