Couldn’t speak a word. Took up with a cattle-breeder named Diego, educated in California. Spoke the language better than you and me. Said, Your job, Murph, is to feed them prize bulls. I said, Fine, what’ll I feed them? He said, Hay, lettuce, salt, beer and aspirin.

Came to blows two days later over an accordion he claimed I stole. I had borrowed it. During the fight I busted it over his head; ruined one of the finest accordions I ever saw. Grabbed a horse and rode back across the border. Texas. Got to talking with a fellow who looked honest. Turned out to be a Ranger who was looking for me.

Joe Yeah. You were saying, a thirty-nine-pound midget.

Kit Carson Will I ever forget that lady? Will I ever get over that amazon of small proportions?

Joe Will you?

Kit Carson If I live to be sixty.

Joe Sixty? You look more than sixty now.

Kit Carson That’s trouble showing in my face. Trouble and complications. I was fifty-eight three months ago.

Joe That accounts for it, then. Go ahead, tell me more.

Kit Carson Told the Texas Ranger my name was Rothstein, mining engineer from Pennsylvania, looking for something worthwhile. Mentioned two places in Houston. Nearly lost an eye early one morning, going down the stairs. Ran into a six-footer with an iron claw where his right hand was supposed to be. Said, You broke up my home. Told him I was a stranger to Houston. The girls gathered at the top of the stairs to see a fight. Seven of them. Six feet and an iron claw. That’s bad on the nerves. Kicked him in the mouth when he swung for my head with the claw. Would have lost an eye except for quick thinking. He rolled into the gutter and pulled a gun. Fired seven times, I was back upstairs. Left the place an hour later, dressed in silk and feathers, with a hat swung around over my face. Saw him standing on the corner, waiting. Said, Care for a wiggle? Said he didn’t. I went on down the street and left town. I don’t suppose you ever had to put a dress on to save your skin, did you?

Joe No, and I never fell in love with a midget weighing thirty-nine pounds. Have another beer?

Kit Carson Thanks. (Swallows glass of beer.) Ever try to herd cattle on a bicycle?

Joe No. I never got around to that.

Kit Carson Left Houston with sixty cents in my pocket, gift of a girl named Lucinda. Walked fourteen miles in fourteen hours. Big house with barbwire all around, and big dogs. One thing I never could get around. Walked past the gate, anyway, from hunger and thirst. Dogs jumped up and came for me. Walked right into them, growing older every second. Went up to the door and knocked. Big Negress opened the door, closed it quick. Said, On your way, white trash.

Knocked again. Said, On your way. Again. On your way. Again. This time the old man himself opened the door, ninety, if he was a day. Sawed-off shotgun, too.