Max stared at him. "Don't try to bull-shit me, Reeves.
You already done a good job on your daughter."
Reeves leaned back in his chair and laughed. "Is that all?" he asked.
"It's enough," Max said.
"Las' night she promised to marry me."
Reeves leaned forward.
"I gave you credit for more brains'n that, Max."
"It don't matter now, Reeves.
I’m movin' on."
Reeves stared at him for a moment. "You mean that?"
Max nodded. "I mean it."
"You takin' the nigger with you?"
"Yeah," Max said.
"When I get our share of the money."
Reeves swung his chair around and took some bills from the safe behind him. He threw them down on the desk in front of Max.
"There it is."
Max looked down at it, then at Reeves.
He picked up the money and counted it. "There's only five hundred dollars here," he said.
"What did you expect?" Reeves asked.
"We came into Fort Worth with seven thousand.
My share of that alone was twenty-three hundred an' we ain't been exactly losin' money in the saloon." Max took a ready-made from Reeves's desk and lit it. "I figger Mike an' me's due at least five thousand." Reeves shrugged.
"I won't argue," he said. "After all, we been through a lot together, you an' me.
If that's what you figure, that's what you get."
He counted the money out on the desk. Max picked it up and put it in his pocket.
"I didn't think you'd part with it so easy," he said.
He was halfway to the saloon when someone hailed him from the rear. He turned around slowly.
The sheriff and two deputies advanced on him, their guns drawn.
Reeves was with them.
"What's up, Sheriff?" Max asked.
"Search him," Reeves said excitedly. "You'll find the money he stole right on him."
"Stole?" Max said. "He's crazy! That money's mine. He owed it to me."
"Keep your hand away from your gun," the sheriff said, moving forward cautiously.
He stuck his hand in Max's pocket. It came out with a sheaf of bills.
"See!" Reeves yelled. "What did I tell you?"
"You son of a bitch!" Max exploded. He flung himself toward Reeves.
Before he could reach him, the sheriff brought his gun butt down along the side of Max's head.
It was just at that moment that Mike looked out the window of the room over the saloon.
Reeves walked over to Max and looked down at him. "I shoulda known better than to trust a half-breed."
"Pick him up, boys, an' tote him over to the jail," the sheriff said.
"Better get over to the saloon and get his nigger friend, too," Reeves said. "He was probably in on it."
Mike saw the sheriff look over at the saloon, then begin to walk toward it. He didn't wait any longer. He went down the back stairs and got the hell out of town.
Reeves rode along the road to his ranch, half humming to himself.
He was feeling good.
For the first time, he was secure.
Max wouldn't dare talk; it would only make it worse for him. And the nigger was gone. Leave it to a nigger to run when things got rough.
He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he never heard the crack of the snake as it whipped out from behind the trees and dragged him down off his horse.
He scrambled to his feet and reached for his gun but the next crack of the snake tore it from his fingers.
Mike walked slowly toward him, the big whip coiling slowly back up his arm. Reeves screamed in terror.
The big snake cracked again and Reeves spun around and tumbled over backward into the dust.
He got to his hands and knees and began to crawl, then scrambled to his feet and tried to run. The snake ran down the road after him and crept between his legs, throwing him to the ground.