The sour-faced old man, called Henneker, was forking hay into a manger when Jonas walked into the barn.  He worked swiftly, silently, ignoring his approach.  As Jonas turned to leave, the old man said, "He'll kill you.  Kissling will kill you."

"Is that his name?"

"Yes.  He's killed four men in gun battles.  Maybe two, three others in holdups.  You won't have a chance."

"Miss Davidge - does she like Ben Janish?"

"Her?"  The old man straightened up angrily.  "She wouldn't look at such as him.  Only ever'body's afraid of him.  Even Kissling an' Cherry."

"She's quite a woman."

"You bother around her an' I'll stab you with a hayfork.  I'll come on you asleep.  That's a fine girl."

"I believe you.  She's the only reason I am here.  When I saw her I had to come."

"She ain't for your kind."

"What kind am I?"

The old man strained up and looked at him with shrewd eyes.  "Look, boy, I'm not as soft in the head as them in yonder.  I know what you are, an' by comparison them inside ain't out of diapers yet.  If I cared a plugged nickel for 'em I'd give warning, but they ought to see they're nothing but a bunch of mangy coyotes with a lobo wolf among 'em."

The old man turned his back and started off , and the man who called himself Jonas stared after him.

Was the old man right?  Was he worse than these men?  Was he evil?  If so, what was evil?

He shrugged and strolled to the corral to lean on the rail, watching the horses.  They stirred warily, and his eyes were drawn to a line-back dun with black ears, black mane and tail.

The horse had stopped suddenly, ears pricked, and was looking at him.  "Come here, boy," he said softly, and to his surprise, the dun came... halted... rolled his eyes, showing the whites, then sidled away.  "It's all right, boy," he whispered, and held out his hand.

The dun's nose extended, sniffing the fingers.

"You have a way with horses, Mr. Jonas."

He turned to find Fan Davidge at his elbow.  "That horse is an outlaw.  Nobody has ever gotten so close to him before."

"He's your horse?"

"We brought him in with our stock off the winter range.  He's a stray.  I understand that's a Texas brand."

"Cherokee Nation," he said, and wondered how he knew.

She glanced at him curiously, but said only, "Ride him if you like... if you can."

"Is he in anybody's string?"

"No"

He turned to look at her.  "You are a very beautiful girl, Miss Davidge."

She flushed slightly.  "Thank you."

Abruptly she turned and went back to the house.  Whatever she had come to say, she had changed her mind.  He watched her go, admiring her easy walk and the swirl of her riding skirt.