“Only the ones who believe in luck lose. A lot win. And I'm thinking that it's illegal because people seem to enjoy it, and there are those who just can't stand to see others enjoying themselves. Not that that means you.”

“Of course not. We support the prohibition of alcohol, too, but not because we don't want people to enjoy themselves. We want them to enjoy themselves without getting hurt or hurting someone else.”

“You can't stop people from hurting themselves. It's what some people are good at. Hurting others, too. Same things. I just ain't sure the government needs a say in that. I know something about the whiskey trade.”

“I had heard that you might know a thing or two about that trade. I know something of it, too.”

“I'm sure you do,” Power said. “But I know more. I know who's involved and who's not.”

“I know a lot of that, too.”

“If you know, you ought to be doing something about it, which I don't see you doing. Unless you're involved in it, too. Which you ain't, because I would know that. And, of course, you ain't giving all the orders.”

“No, I'm not. Yet. But I think you're probably right. You do know more about it than I do, though I suspect I know more than you think I do.”

“You don't play cards, do you, Deputy? I mean, real cards, for money. It's like this. You'd probably enjoy it.”

McBride smiled. “We believe that just because you enjoy it doesn't mean it's good for you.”

“Can't always have what's good for you. Life ain't like that,” Power said.

“You see, there's another place we disagree.” He held his hand out to shake. “It's been a pleasure talking to you, Mr. Power.”

Tom took his hand and shook it. “Likewise. You mix blue and yellow paint, and you got green. If you don't mix them, you just got blue and yellow.”

“I understand that.” McBride opened the door to the truck and retrieved the crank.

“Nice truck.”

“Borrowed.”

“Someday you'll likely have one of your own.”

CHAPTER TEN

1918

Tom pulled them up to a line shack on the Hendricks ranch. They had ridden most of the day, not seeing anyone, as though the pursuit of them had just stopped. The line shack was small, more a pile of sticks than a building. Most of it was made from boards that looked like they'd been pulled off of packing crates. The roof and the doors were ocotillo stalks wired together. And the door was wired to the shack, fencing wire on both sides, for hinges on one side, a latch on the other.