However, having fallen among madmen, he must use cunning to get away
before the outlaw and his men came back from wherever they had gone.
Otherwise there would be more bloodshed, more play of guns and hum
of lead.
"Tell me of Hal," he said, and dropped his elbows on his knees as if
he accepted his fate.
"Don't know you well enough to talk of Hal."
"I'm sorry."
The boy made a little gesture of apology.
"I guess that was a mean thing to say. Sure I'll tell you about
Hal--if I can."
"Tell me anything you can," said Pierre gently, "because I've got to
try to be like him, haven't I?"
"You could try till rattlers got tame, but it'd take ten like you to
make one like Hal. He was dad's own son--he was my brother."
The sob came openly now, and the tears were a mist in the boy's eyes.
"What's your name?"
"Pierre."
"Pierre? I suppose I got to learn it."
"I suppose so." And he edged farther forward so that he was sitting
only on the edge of the bunk.
"Please do." And he gathered his feet under him, ready for a spring
forward and a grip at the boy's threatening rifle.
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