He was startled by a noise behind him. The old man was already cranking the car upward with a jack. The front tires were almost off the ground. The old man yelled out, “Vern, give old Tex a little bite. He’s gonna need his energy to help get these tires fixed.”

Pete’s stomach ached when he thought of food. Sometimes he felt so dizzy he wasn’t sure he could last another ten minutes. But somehow he just kept on living.

The old man loosened the nuts of the tire with a wrench. “Yessir, Tex,” he said. “Old Vern’s been looking for a genuine cowboy to give an opinion of his cooking. But we don’t get many cowboys out in these parts.”

The black man said, “I don’t need nobody’s opinion.”

“He gets defensive,” said the old man. “Sometimes you gotta mollycoddle him.” Then the old man reached into his back pocket and removed a quarter. “Now tell me, Tex, does this seem like a fair price?” He placed the heavy coin in Pete’s hand.

“Price for what?”

The old man winked. “You know, the going rate for your professional critiquing by a genuine cowboy?”

“Crit-eek-in?” said Pete.

“That’s right. It’s kinda like being a county fair judge at a jelly competition, picking the winner.”

“I don’t know.”

The old man reached into his pocket and placed another coin in Pete’s hand. “Here, this oughta square us up.”

The black man filled a plate with meat and drowned it in red sauce. Pete’s sister came running when she saw this. And Pete lost himself to the smell. He ate with his hands. And his sister ate from the same plate, using both her hands. He ate so fast it made his stomach hurt and his ears ring. He’d forgotten all about his gun and the clever line he would say. He only thought about the taste that was flooding his mouth. It was the best taste he’d ever known. When the plate was empty, Pete was breathing heavily. He wiped his face with his sleeve and still felt a burning hunger behind his ribs.

“Well?” said the old man who knelt beside the car. “How about it, Tex? Give us your official critique.”

“My critique?”

“Don’t hold back now. Vern can handle it. Might hurt his feelings, but he’ll get over it.”

Pete couldn’t answer. A feeling was sweeping over him. He didn’t know what to say. So he said nothing. Pete felt tears come to his eyes. He didn’t even know why the tears were there. Maybe it was hunger. Maybe it was the food. “Thank you,” said Pete in a quiet voice.

The old man hobbled toward Pete and sat beside him on a log next to the fire. He placed a greasy hand on Pete’s shoulder. He let out a little laugh.