It was dark when they heard the engine chugging toward them, then saw the faint glow of the lights behind the hill. They moved back into the mesquite, their rifles cocked. The small truck crested the hill, came up to the stock tank, and shut down. “Tom. Tom Power. It's Herb. I got provisions. Come on. I'll take you to Mexico.”

Blakely had moved in front of the truck so that his body, though not his head, was illuminated by the truck's lights. Tom gave his rifle to John, though he wasn't sure John was awake enough to get himself pointed in the right direction. He moved slowly away from the mesquite in case it was a trick, drawing fire away from John and Sisson, giving them the chance to take out whoever it was in front of the truck.

“Herb?”

“Yes. It's me. Come on.”

Tom walked to the front of the truck. He still could not see the man's face. He assumed it was Herb Blakely but wasn't sure. Sisson was back in the darkness, out of the range of the truck's headlights, with his rifle trained on the man.

“Got you some bread, some pork smoked in the fall, a jar of cooked beans, and some pie. The missus didn't want to give up the pie, but I took it anyway. And I got water. And I'll drive you to the border.”

“Herb, can you duck down a little so your face is in the light? No offense, now. Just caution is all.”

“I understand, Tom.” Blakely knelt and turned so the truck lights lit his face. “All right for you?”

“Yes, sir, Herb. Can't tell you how grateful we are.”

“Don't even think on it. I was a little jealous when Hendricks told me he saw you boys and helped you on your way. I knew I would do the same, and here I am. You all climb into the truck, and we'll be on our way.”

“I hear there's army after us.”

“Out of Hachita, yes. They was through here early this morning. Cavalry. Come on, get in the truck.”

“If there's army down there, I'm not sure I want to be in a truck.”

“It'll be fine. Come on.”

Sisson came out from his dark cover. He came up even with Tom and spoke just above a whisper. “I don't like it. Truck will draw the soldiers.”

“Hello, Mr. Sisson. Herb Blakely.” Blakely held out his hand, which shook in the light of the truck headlamps.

Sisson merely nodded.

“Who else you got back there?” Herb asked.

Sisson stepped forward. “Why you nervous, Mr. Blakely? This is Tom Power. You know him.”

Blakely laughed. “Hell, yes, I know him. But I knowed him when he was just a cowboy, not when he was a famous desperado.”

“Let's take the food and go,” Sisson said.