“Come again?” Curtis inquired. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and temples, surely from the fire, he thought. Sly straightened himself and took a deep breath.
“I want to join you,” Sly repeated. He raised his hands slightly—Curtis flinched at the gesture. “I know we’ve been at each other’s throats these past few days,” he said.
“No,” Curtis interjected. “You’ve been at my throat. I didn’t want any trouble in Sunnyville, and I sure didn’t want anything to do with you in Coyote Run.”
“Okay, okay,” Sly admitted. “Listen, it’s my job as a Ranger to deal with Outlaws, such as yourself. But, hey, I’ve had a change of heart. I swear, see?” Sly slowly drew his seven-shot revolvers from their holsters, making it obvious that his fingers were off the triggers, and laid them at his feet. He
