And then they were easier to see. John moved up to tap Tom on the shoulder. Though the sunlight hadn't come over the tops of the Chiricahuas yet, it was starting to faintly light the ragged spires of the Stronghold. “Yeah,” Tom said when he saw what John had seen. Then he turned and walked forward again. He stopped and turned. “Still too dark to find a good hiding place, but we should be getting the light in a couple of minutes. As soon as you can see, start looking for a place to stop for the day.”

“Bless Jesus,” Sisson said.

They tucked into an arroyo some four feet deep. There were no clouds, and it was February, way too early for snow thaw. They were secure and out of sight. It was just coming dawn, the light weak and hazy. Tom took first watch, just up on a small rise, amid a clump of prickly pear that didn't hide him but broke the sight lines well enough that someone would have to get pretty close to get a clear view of him. He could see for miles in every direction. If there was trouble, he would know in time to get them moving toward better cover, though he was not sure where that would be.

“Sisson?” John was exhausted and sore from the walk and wrapped tightly in his blanket, waiting for the sun to come fully up and warm the air and ground.

“Yeah?”

“You asleep?”

“No, John. I'm talking to you. I'm awake.”

“This is about Tom, ain't it? I mean, all of it.”

“All of it?”

“The law, the shooting, the Old Man, the running. It's all tied in, ain't it? It's Tom and that whiskey back there in the line shack.”

“I don't know.”

“Sure you do, Sisson. I know you know. I'm right, ain't I?”

“John, I don't know. It could be about the whiskey. There's a lot of money in whiskey, and most killing is about money or pussy. That's what I know.”

“So it makes sense, right?”

“It does make sense, John. But you want to be careful about sense. A lot of times, especially when there's killing, sense don't have a lot to do with anything. It would be easier if sense was all there was to it, but that, generally, ain't the case.”

“I think I'm right.”

“Could be. Or could be you're wrong. Or, likely, the truth is somewhere toward the middle.”

“So you saying it ain't the whiskey?”