“The way I see it, Mullins deserved to get the tar kicked out of him,” says Rick. “He’s a liar and a cheat and it’s about time somebody took him down a peg.”

He’s looking straight ahead and driving with both hands on the wheel. There’s just me and him in the truck, towing the horse trailer home. Mr. Jessup has stayed back to see about getting Joe sprung from jail.

When I don’t say anything about what happened, Rick says, “Penny for your thoughts.”

I go, “Nothing. That’s what I’m thinking about — nothing.”

Rick thinks for a while and then he reaches over and pats my hands and says, “Nick’ll take care of it. Why, they’ll probably beat us to the Bar None.”

I figure he’s just trying to make me feel better, but wouldn’t you know it, by the time we back the trailer up to the stable, this sheriff’s car with a gold star painted on it comes skidding down the fire road, kicking up rooster tails, and it stops in the main yard.

You can’t see through the windows, but when the doors open, there’s Mr. Jessup and Joe and the sheriff getting out, and they’re all shaking hands and smiling at each other like they just come back from a party.

I run up to Joe, but before I can say anything he shushes me.

“Not now, Roy,” he says.

I try to hug him but he’s so stiff he won’t hug.

The sheriff, he tips his hat and shoots Mr. Jessup a look, and then he gets back in his car and pretty soon all you can see is the dust it makes leaving.

“It’s over,” Mr. Jessup says to Joe. “Let it go.”

“That stinking son of a scum,” says Joe.

At first I think he’s cursing the sheriff, but he means Mullins, the man he hit.

Joe kicks at the dirt and stalks off to the bunkhouse.

Mr. Jessup looks at me and says, “Your brother is a hothead, but I guess you know that.”

“I’d a done the same thing,” says Rick.

Mr. Jessup says, “It doesn’t matter what you might have done in the same situation, Rick. Joe’s the one in trouble. Mullins won’t drop the charges. He won’t take money and he won’t listen to reason.”

I run into the bunkhouse, looking for Joe. He’s got his cot tipped over and stuff from his kit bag strewn around and he’s looking for something. He finds it — this pint whiskey bottle he must have hid there, but when he lifts it up to the light the bottle is empty.

“Aw nuts. Can’t a man get a drink around here? Can’t he?”

“Joe, please. Mr. Jessup will fix things.”

“Is that what you think?”

“He fixed it so I could get in the race. He can fix old Mullins, too. You just got to give him a chance.”

Joe sprawls out in the mess he’s made. He’s got his hand over his face like he don’t want me to see his eyes. “Listen to me, Roy. That sheriff let me go because Nick Jessup wanted him to, but it ain’t going to end there. He’s going to check up on me. You know what that means, don’t you?”

I know what that means but I don’t want to think about it. I just want everything to stay the same. Me and Joe living here at the Bar None, and riding Lady Luck and everything.

Except we can’t. And I know what we have to do.

“We better get out of here, Joe,” I say. “Hit the road and don’t look back.”

Joe lifts his hand away from his eyes and looks at me for a long time. “Too late for that, kid brother. Like the song says, I stayed too long at the fair.”

I don’t want to hear about no stupid old song that Joe Dilly carries around inside his head. So I start packing up his bag, and mine, too, and I’m talking real fast so I don’t have to think about what I’m saying. It just runs out of my mouth.

“Go on, get your stuff together, Joe, we’re out of here. Why, it’s the best thing ever happened, leaving this stupid old ranch. I don’t care if I never see another fancy Arabian prancing around like he’s something special. We’ll find us a place where they ain’t got rattlesnakes or mountain lions or thunderstorms, or crazy stallions like Showdown. I just won a thousand dollars, Joe. Maybe we can put it down on a place of our own! Rick says they still got cheap land down in Mexico, that’s what we’ll do, we’ll head south. Yes sir! We’ll keep on going till we hit a place where a thousand dollars can buy a ranch as big as this one, and you can be the boss, Joe, it’ll be just you and me and a few horses that hardly need shoeing. Just enough so you can keep your hand in. Friendly horses that won’t bite you or kick you or step on your feet. Joe? Remember what you said, that night up on the mountain? How we could be kings? How we could be princes? Well we can — we just got to get out of here while the getting’s good.”

I don’t even know what kind of silly stuff I’m spouting, but it kind of freezes Joe where he is, and he quits looking for whatever other booze he thinks he hid, and he’s staring at me with those soft eyes of his, and after a while he nods and says, “Okay, here’s the plan. You finish packing up those bags. I’m going to go gas up the pickup and I’ll be back for you. How about that?”

“It won’t take me a minute, Joe. I’ll come with you.”

“Naw, let’s do it right. Get all our gear together. We’re going to need it when we get that ranch, right? Right?”

I run to the bunkhouse door and Joe grins at me and ruffles up my hair like he does and he says, “Hang in there, sports fans. I’ll be right back.”

I watch Joe Dilly drive that old Ford pickup off the Bar None, and the whole time I know he ain’t coming back for me. Maybe he figures I’ll be better off without him. Or maybe he’s fixing to go crazy and he don’t want me around when it happens.