“I ain’t got a gun on me, Ed.” Pete had spoken slowly and distinctly, and apparently without the least shadow of trepidation.  Forbes, gazing at the grim, bronzed face of the strange horseman, nervously echoed Pete’s statement.  Before the Easterner could realize what had actually happened, Pete and the strange rider had dismounted and were shaking hands:  a transition so astonishing that Forbes forgot to lower his hands and sat with them nervously aloft as though imploring the Rain-God not to forget his duty to mankind.

Pete and the stranger were talking.  Forbes could catch an occasional word, such as “The Spider—­El Paso—­White-Eye—­Hospital—­Sonora—­Sanborn—­Sam Brent—­”

Pete turned and grinned.  “I reckon you can let go the—­your holt, Doc.  This here is a friend of mine.”

Forbes sighed thankfully.  He was introduced to the friend, whom Pete called Ed, but whose name had been suddenly changed to Bill.  “We used to ride together,” explained Pete.

Forbes tactfully withdrew, realizing that whatever they had to talk about was more or less confidential.

Presently Pete approached Forbes and asked him if he had any money with him.  Forbes had five dollars and some small change.  “I’m borrowin’ this till to-morrow,” said Pete, as he dug into his own pocket, and without counting the sum total, gave it to the stranger.

Brevoort stuffed the money in his pocket and swung to his horse.  “You better ride in with us a ways,” suggested Pete.  “The young fella don’t know anything about you—­and he won’t talk if I pass the word to him.  Then I kin go on ahead and fetch back some grub and some more dineros.”

Forbes found the stranger rather interesting as they rode back toward Tucson; for he spoke of Mexico and affairs below the line—­amazing things to speak of in such an offhand manner—­in an impersonal and interesting way.

Within two miles of the town they drew up.  “Bill, here,” explained Pete, “is short of grub.  Now, if you don’t mind keepin’ him company, why, I’ll fan it in and git some.  I’ll be back right soon.”

“Not at all!  Go ahead!” Forbes wanted to hear more of first-hand experiences south of the line.  Forbes, who knew something of Pete’s history, shrewdly suspected that the stranger called “Bill” had a good reason to ride wide of Tucson—­although the Easterner did not quite understand why Pete should ride into town alone.  But that was merely incidental.

It was not until Pete had returned and the stranger had departed, taking his way east across the desert, that Pete offered an explanation—­a rather guarded explanation, Forbes realized—­of the recent happenings.  “Bill’s keepin’ out on the desert for his health,” said Pete.  “And, if anybody should ask us, I reckon we ain’t seen him.”

“I think I understand,” said Forbes.

And Forbes, recalling the event many months later, after Pete had left Tucson, thought none the less of Pete for having helped an old friend out of difficulties.  Forbes was himself more than grateful to Pete—­for with the riding three times a week and Pete’s robust companionship, he had regained his health to an extent far beyond his hopes.