In central Missouri he wandered into a hobo camp. Four bedraggled-looking men were squatting around an iron pot in which bubbled some sort of stew. Kesley had not eaten all day; he rode up to them and dismounted, keeping a hand hovering near his weapons in case they should recognize him. They didn't. "Come join us, brother," one of them invited. He was a heavy man with a bulbous red nose. "Thanks. Don't mind if I do." Kesley lowered himself into the circle round the fire. "You from hereabouts?" a lean man of perhaps sixty asked grudgingly. "Don't spot your face." "I'm an Illinoiser," Kesley said. "Spent some time down in Texas. Now I'm heading home again." He helped himself to a potful of stew. The stuff was hot and bubbling--too hot, really, to taste, which perhaps was a sort of blessing, Kesley thought. "Have any trouble with the border guards?" someone asked. "Little squabble down near Arkansas, that's all. They were hunting someone or other, and took me for him." "They do that, sometimes," the red-nosed man agreed. "Times are tough now. The woods are full of Winslow's men." "Oh? Something up?" "Seems someone tried to kill the old bird," the red-faced man said. "Guess he got fed up after all these years." "I suspect it was that Duke from South America," the lean one remarked. "Them Dukes are out for each other, mark my words!" The fire flickered and sent a spiral of smoke curling into the trees. Staring at it, Kesley found the sight oddly soothing. He took another sip of the stew. Chuckling, he said, "They must be chasing this guy all over the country. I'll bet there's a nifty price on his head." "Seventy-five thousand, that's what it is!" Kesley frowned. Had the reward increased so fast--or was this just the exaggeration of ignorance? It didn't much matter. "I'd like to catch some of that money myself, you know. Seventy-five thousand, huh?" The red-nosed man laughed raucously. "You know, if I was the guy, maybe I'd turn _myself_ in, for that kind of dough!" Maybe you would, Kesley thought, watching the ghostly shapes the fire took. Anybody would do anything these days. "What would you do if _I_ was the guy?" he asked suddenly. "You?" The red-nosed man seemed to stiffen a little. "Why would _you_ want to go killin' Dukes?" "Yeah," Kesley said. "That's right, I guess." * * * * * He moved on later that night, leaving his newfound companions behind. They seemed happy there in the forest. He toyed with the idea of telling them the truth before he left, but rejected the idea. There was no telling how they'd react to the confession--but seventy-five thousand was a lot of money, and he didn't want four more deaths to his score.