"I'm a-goin to sit this next hand out, fellas. Game's too rich for me."

The little man's pronouncement caused a few shoulders to shrug and only one comment. "Suit yourself. Come on back whenever you feel like losing some more."

Kyle Murtree pushed his chair back and stood. "Well, I might contribute some funds, but I sure ain't contributing my whiskey." He filled his glass from the half-empty bottle that stood in the middle of the table.

"Don't take that whole bottle, Murtree," someone – Kyle couldn't remember his name – growled at him. "There's some thirsty men here."

"'Course not." Before Kyle had taken two steps towards the bunkhouse door, his seat was filled. He kept his gaze focused on the floor, not wanting to get into another confrontation with some likkered-up fool. When two boots appeared in his view, he looked up and met Hank's blue eyes.

"Why're you leavin'? Night's still young."

"Why're you stayin'? Ain't you put up with enough for one night?"

"It ain't so bad. I don't mind. They's just funnin'."

Kyle looked over his shoulder at the rough men crouched over their cards at three separate tables. "These new fellas don't seem like much fun to me. 'Specially the way they talk to you, makin' fun of your name an' all. That don't seem right to me."

Hank's voice was low, but somehow penetrated the background noise of deep voices making bets and arguing behind them.

"There's a sayin' I heard a lot when I was startin' out. Made a lotta sense to me. If someone's just tryin' to rile me, just for the sake of rilin' me, I say to myself, is this the hill you want to die on? So far, I ain't never crossed that hill yet." Now his blue eyes met Kyle's blue eyes. "Ain't you the same way?"

"I ain't so sure about that right now. Which is why I'm gonna get some distance between me and these fellas. If you're smart, you'll do the same thing. But if you ain't comin' with me, just move aside. I'm fixin' to take a walk." Hank stepped away, and Kyle slipped past him.

Outside, Kyle stepped off the threshold and took in a deep breath. The clouds of cigar smoke that hung low under the bunkhouse ceiling were stale and acrid, but still not strong enough to cover up the aroma of dirty, sweaty men and the leftovers of their dinners and stomach contents. August in the Wind River Range, the air was clear and fresh. The constant wind had a taste of chill in it, warning that the bitter Wyoming winter was coming. But on this night, the winter seemed far away, and the noise coming from the crowded bunkhouse was too close. It felt to him like there hadn't been any peace and quiet at Devil's Hole for a long time. He decided to take a walk around the meadow, clear his aching head a bit.

The corral by the stable was quiet. The horses were all settled down for the night. For a moment, Kyle thought about going in to lay with them. The fresh straw could be mighty comfy, and he could get some real sleep there. Not like in the bunkhouse, where all those new men Wheat brought in played poker and drank and argued till the wee hours. It was no place for a self-respecting outlaw to get some rest. He took a long drink of his whiskey, put the glass on the ground, and leaned onto the fence, thinking about nothing more than how pretty these late summer nights were. Every star in the sky was shining down on him, and he could follow the Milky Way real easy.

"What're you hanging out here by your lonesome? Ain't there a game going on?"

Kyle turned around. Wheat Carlson was standing beside him, hands on hips, sounding kinda mad.

"There's always a game goin' on these days. Missin' one don't mean nothin'."

Wheat grunted, but he came forward and leaned on the fence, mimicking Kyle's posture.

"Sure is a pretty night."

"Sure is."

The two men watched the sky for a long moment.

"So what are you doin' out here, Kyle?"

He shrugged. "Wonderin', I guess."

"Wonderin' what?"

"Oh, lots of things. When I'm gonna get some sleep tonight. Where I'm gonna sleep tonight." At Wheat's puzzled expression, Kyle explained.

"Them new boys you brought in play cards and drink too much, and then they start fightin' and calling everyone bad names. I can't get no good sleep no more. Which you wouldn't know, since you're staying in the leader's cabin now, and you ain't sharing it with your partner. I'm wonderin' what they're doin' here, since we ain't had no jobs except some piddly shit since Heyes and Kid left."

"Whaddaya mean, piddly shit? We had some good hauls. Are you tellin' me I ain't a good leader?" Kyle glanced at his partner. Wheat's voice hadn't risen. He was talking quiet and calm-like. Normally, Wheat got all high and mighty if he thought someone was finding fault with him.

"I ain't saying that at all, Wheat. I'm your partner, you remember? I'm just wonderin', that's all."

"I know," Wheat said. He was staring at the sky like something real interesting was happening there. Kyle looked up, too, trying to see if anything had changed, but all he saw was the Milky Way, hanging high and bright over their heads, and over the narrow valley where the Devil's Hole hideout huddled between snow-capped mountains.

"I know I had a slow start, Kyle. I know what Hank and Lobo are saying. I know why Preacher left. I know what you're thinkin', even though you ain't said nothin' till now." He turned towards Kyle, and his voice got intense. "But listen to me. I got a plan for a big haul. A real big haul. We're gonna get rich, richer than we ever got with Heyes running things. Enough for all of us to buy some nice ranchero in Mexico, and no one's ever got to spend another winter freezing their cojones up here in Wyoming."

"How big is real big?"

"Quarter of a million dollars. That enough for you?"

Kyle whistled, low and slow. "Hoo-ee, Wheat! Who's got that kind of money in one place?"

Wheat bent closer to Kyle and whispered. "I'm only telling you this before everyone else, because you're my partner. But you got to keep it under your hat till I tell the other boys tomorrow. Can you do that?"

"'Course I can. You know me."

"Yeah, I do, That's why I'm askin' for your word."

"We's partners, Wheat," he protested. Wheat only stared at him. "Alright, you got my word. I won't say nothin' afore you tell everyone. 'Sides, I'm the only one half-sober out of that whole bunch. Even Hank and Lobo are three sheets to the wind."

"Alright. It's the payroll for the Wash Valley Consolidated Mining Company. They're shipping it to the Denver mint. We're going to stop the train it's on – same train we've stopped twice before, so we know where it is and how to do." He slapped Kyle on the bank. "It's gold, Kyle. Lots and lots of gold. Ain't nobody gonna remember Heyes or Curry when we split that mother lode."

"Gold?" Kyle couldn't keep the doubt out of his voice. "Are you for sure? How're we gonna carry away a quarter million dollars in gold?"

"Now you know why I had ta bring in all those new men. We need every last one of them to carry out them gold bars."

"But a train we hit twicet before? The lawmen are gonna be waitin' for us. It might even be a trap. Did ya think of that?"

"Uh-uh. It means the law don't expect us. They don't expect us to make the same hit three times. 'Sides, you know from before, the lawmen around here ain't smart enough to blow their own noses even if they used your dynamite. It ain't like they's Bannerman men, Ain't no chance there's a trap."

"But we already robbed the same train twicet before. They could figure out real easy, if'n we did it twicet, we could do it three times."

"Kyle, you're the best powder man round, but it's real clear you ain't got the mind of a leader. Not that that's a bad thing! It's just that you ain't suited to run this gang like I am."

"Well, I 'spose that's true. I know I ain't suited to be leader. I just wonder. . . "

"Well, don't," Wheat said. "I'm the leader now of this here gang. You leave the wonderin' and the plannin' to me. But now you understand why I needed more men. And even with more men, there's still gonna be more'n enough gold for everyone here."

"With that big a payroll, ain't they gonna have extra guards? More security? 'Cause I sure would."

"Nope. Fact is, they're trying to do everything hush-hush. They're running that train out of Brimstone, just like it's a regular passenger train with regular luggage. No special guards, no nothing. Nobody's supposed to think there's anything special or different 'bout that run."

"How'd you hear about it then, if'n it's such a big secret?"

Wheat tapped his nose with one finger. "I got my ways. People tell me things over a poker game that they don't mean to, once they got half a bottle of fine whiskey in them."

Kyle looked off into the sky again, not speaking.

"Don't be looking like that, Kyle. It's gonna work." Wheat straightened up to his full height. "Or don't you trust me? Best to tell me now. If you ain't with me, I got to know. This job's happening, whether you come or not."

"I'm with you, Wheat, same as always. Ain't that what partners are for?"

"Damn straight." He held out his hand. "Partners through thick and thin."

Kyle reached over and shook Wheat's hand. "I'm just hoping tt's gonna be thick. Things've been mighty thin lately."

"It will be. Trust me on this. I'm plannin' to tell the boys tomorrow my plan. And in a few days, we are all gonna be rich men. You'll see."

"Well, I'd sure like to be rich. I'd buy me a nice farm back in Tennessee, settle down there, maybe hire some of my nephews to work for me whilst I sit on my porch and watch 'em."

"Tennessee? You must be plumb loco. It's even worse'n Texas since the war. No, Mexico's the place to go. Lots of pretty senoritas, and a dollar goes real far there."

"But I don't speak Mexican."

Wheat threw a companionable arm across his friend's shoulders.

"Don't you worry none about that. Your money'll do your talkin' for you."

"Well . . . I guess it's alright then. I guess if Hank can put up with them a while longer, I can, too."

"Why?" Wheat asked. "What's happenin' with Hank?"

"Just . . . it's damn fool stuff. Couple of them saw his ring and asked who he stole it from. When he told 'em it was his ring, his initials, and his real name was Henry Maxwell Jenkins, they thought it was real funny. They been givin' him a hard time about his fancy name ever since."

Wheat shook his head. "Ain't Hank ever heard, sticks and stones will break my bones, but names will never hurt me?"

"Yeah, he has. It just goes to show Hank's a better man than any of them."

"You know what, Kyle? I'll make it up to him. I'll make sure he gets a bigger share of the haul than the other fellas. All the weight of that gold in his saddlebags will make up for a lot."

"That's real generous of you, Wheat. I'm sure he's gonna appreciate that."

Wheat slapped Kyle on the back. "Just don't tell no one ahead of time. Those other fellas might not like hearing that."

"I won't. You got my word on that, too."

"And there's one more thing I'm fixin' to do. Tomorrow morning, when all them fellas are sleeping off their fat heads, you collect your plunder and bring it to the leader's cabin. You're moving in with me."

"You mean that, Wheat? You ain't just funnin' me?"

"Sure, I do. We're partners, after all. 'Sides, there's pressy – a pressy – it's been done before. Heyes and Kid were partners, weren't they? And they shared the leader's cabin."

"But they was both leaders, Wheat," Kyle objected. "You said I ain't got the brains to be a leader."

"Then I'll be setting a new – a new pressy-dent. And you'll be able to get some real sleep, not being in the bunkhouse no more."

"Thank you kindly, Wheat. I'd like that. I surely would. And just think!" he said, his smile getting wider and wider. "This time next week, we'll be rich men."

"We sure will, partner. We sure will."