Morisson rubbed 2 thick fingers along the stock of the Springfield rifle.  He was sitting wide-legged on the cot and watching Sergeant Crawford.

"You will watch him," Robinson instructed.

"Where ya goin'?"

"To complete the burial I interrupted when I became aware of the sergeant's arrival."

"Murdered someone else, have you, Morisson?" asked Crawford.

"Didn't kill 'im, 'is own 'orse did," said Morisson.  "Same like I ne'er did kill Logan.  Don't guess that makes no diff'rence now."

Crawford, seated on the dirt floor, said, "I don't guess it does.  Since I reckon you're not aiming to let me leave this shack alive.  Why don't you go ahead and shoot me, Morisson?  Get it over with."

Morisson turned questioningly to Robinson.  "Ah still got me a naggin' backache from 'is whip."

Meeting his look, Robinson said to the sergeant, "Mr. Morisson will not harm you."  He left the two of them there.

Morisson scowled at the sergeant, his big fingers again stroking the rifle.

Some kind of night birds began quarreling off in the growing darkness.

"What's been going on here?" Crawford asked after a moment.

"One whole helluva lot," answered the giant.

"Tell me about it."

"Whut fer?  Ya never do believe a word I says."

Crawford glanced at the pouch of gold, which was sitting on the table now.  "I'm coming around to wondering if maybe I was wrong, wrong about you, Morisson."

"Wazzat s'posed t'mean?"

"Well," said the sergeant, "it could be that Ollie Potts did kill Logan Brock."

"Sure 'e did.  I awreddy 'splain'd that t' ya down that," said Morisson.  "But down thar ya didn't wanna hear.  Ya only wanted t' take a whip t' me."

"Gotta do a lot of thinking while I been on your trail.  Spent a lot of time dodging Utes and lying low," said Crawford.  "I come to the conclusion maybe you are innocent."

The big man's eyes nearly closed while he studied the sergeant's face.  "Fat lotta good that does m' now."

"I know, I know.  There's a warrant for you, Morisson," said Crawford. "Meaning if I don't bring you in, someone else will."

"Yup, so sooner 'er later somebody's a'gonna git me on th' biz'ness end o' a rope."

Crawford lowered his voice.  "Thing is, Morisson, I don't care about you," he said.  "It's the hill, it's Robinson I want."

"Yew don't unnerstant him neither," said Morisson.  "He----he's diff'rent.  He don't hurt nobody, not if 'e kin hep it."

"Then why do you think I'm after him?"

Morisson frowned, and answered, " 'Cause somebody prolly tol' a bunch o' fibs 'bout 'im, same as they done tol' a bunch o' fibs 'bout me."

"You heard about President Lincoln, how somebody killed him eleven years ago?"

"Yup."

"A man who kills somebody like Lincoln, they call him an anarchist.  It isn't an everyday kind of killing, it's anarchism," continued Sergeant Crawford.  "And that's what Robinson is, an anarchist."

"Naw, he wouldn't...."

"He did.  I've seen the evidence of it.  Robinson killed a United States Marine back in his home country, some Oriental wasteland called Korea. Just like Booth killed a United States President," said Crawford.  He paused, his face in shadows.  "Seems funny you'd have anything to do with somebody like that, with an anarchist."

"Ya don't know...."

Crawford went on in his low voice, "You help me take him, Morisson, and I'll let you go," he promised.  "I'll tell them when I get back to Fort Lonestar, that I had to kill you.  Tell them I left your body for the cougars."

"I don't...."

"Do you want to be running forever, Morisson? Do you want the rest of your life to be like these past few days?  You won't be able to stop nowhere for long 'cause you'll be wanted.  Anybody as wants to can gun you down.  Kill me, Morisson, they'll just send somebody else after you.  They won't care if take take you alive or dead either.  You're worth just as much dead.

"S'pose," said Morisson, "s'pose ya did tell them I wuz daid?  They'd call ya a liar."

"No, they wouldn't," Morisson assured the giant.  "I'll give you that gold, too, Morisson.  Must be five, ten thousand dollars worth in that bag.  All be yours."

"It's already mine!"

"Gold don't do you no good if you can't spend it," said Crawford.  "When I tell them you're dead, then you're free.  Nobody'll ever hunt you down again.  I can do that for you, nobody else. You'll be free, with all the money you'll ever need."

"I could do whatever I wanna do," said Morisson.  "Ain't nobody could stop me, tell me no."

"I figure Robinson's out there looking over your claim right now.  It don't take this long to bury somebody," said the sergeant.  "All he's gotta do is kill us both, then all the gold will be his."

"Gold don't mean nuttin' t' Robinson," the big man said slowly.  "All he wants t' do is find his daddy."

Crawford's thin smile showed briefly.  "Do you honestly believe that, Morisson?  He lied, Robinson lied to you.  There isn't anyone in this world who doesn't want gold."

A moment later Robinson appeared in the doorway.  "I have finished my work and we may now leave," he said.

Morisson swallowed.  He swung the Springfield rifle until it was aimed at Robinson's chest.  208Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyBD3BArAPW