Max felt a flush of color run up into his cheeks.
Awkwardly he sat down.
"I figgered it's time for me to be movin' on."
Charlie and his wife exchanged quick looks.
"Why?" Charlie asked. "You own half this spread. You just can't go off an' leave it."
Max studied him. He rolled a cigarette and lit it.
"We been here three months now. Let's stop kiddin' ourselves.
This place can't carry the both of us."
They were silent. Max was right.
Even though he had advanced the money to buy the ranch, there wasn't enough in it yet for all of them.
"What if somebody recognizes you?" Martha asked. "Your poster's in every sheriff's office in the southwest."
Max smiled and rubbed his chin again.
"They won't recognize me. Not without the beard."
"You better think up a new name for yourself," Charlie said.
Max blew out a cloud of smoke. "Yeah. I reckon so.
It's time. Everything's gotta change."
But the name hadn't come to him until the day he stood in the hot Nevada sun looking up at old man Cord and young Jonas.
Then it came easy. As if it had been his own all his life.
Smith.
Nevada Smith.
It was a good name. It told nothing about him.
He looked down at the little boy staring up at him with frightened eyes, then at the cold black gun in his other hand.
He saw the child follow his eyes. He dropped the gun back into his holster. He smiled slowly.
"Well, Junior," he said. "You heard your pappy."
He turned to his horse and led it around to the bunkhouse, the boy trotting obediently behind him.
The bunkhouse was empty. The boy's voice piped up behind him. "Are you going to live here with Wong Toy?" He smiled again.
"I reckon so."
He picked out one of the bunks and spread his bedroll on it. Quickly he put his things away.
When he turned around, the boy was still watching him with wide eyes.
"You're really goin' to stay?" the child asked.
"Uh-huh."
"Really?" the boy insisted. "Forever?"
His voice caught slightly. "You're not goin' to go away like the others?
Like Mommy did?"
Something in the child's eyes caught inside him.
He knelt beside the boy.
"I’ll stay jest as long as you want me to."
Suddenly, the boy flung his arms around Nevada's neck and pressed his cheek close to his face.
His breath was soft and warm.
"I’m glad," he said. "Now you can learn me to ride."
Nevada straightened up, the boy still clinging to his legs.
He walked outside and put the boy up on the saddle of his horse. He started to climb up behind him when suddenly the gun was heavy against his thigh.
"I’ll be back in a minute," he said, and went back into the bunkhouse.
Quickly he pulled the tie strings and unbuckled the gun belt. He hung it on a nail over his bunk and went out again into the white sunlight.
And he never strapped the gun on again.
16.
RINA STEPPED DOWN FROM THE TRAIN INTO the bright, flashing shadows of afternoon sun lacing the platform.
A tall uniformed chauffeur stepped forward and touched his hand to his cap.
"Miss Marlowe?"
Rina nodded.