Bonner finished his drink and started saying his good-nights when the door of Dorca's was kicked in and a very tough-looking guy followed by six more stomped into the place. He walked straight up to the piano, stood up on the stool, and crashed his foot down on the keyboard. The sudden, discordant noise made every head look up.

"Who the fuck are you?" demanded Dorca, still slightly hurt that his singers had gone over so badly.

"Mr. Dorca," said the man politely, "my name is Roy and I'd like to make an announcement."

"What kind of announcement?"

"All in good time, sir, all in good time."

Curious, Dorca said, "Okay."

"Thank you, sir." Roy turned to the drinkers. "Like I said, my name is Roy and I represent a very powerful man."

Every hand in the place reached for a gun. If this guy Roy was with Leatherman or Berger or Carey— the rulers of the feudal states that lay outside the free, if unwelcoming, confines of Chicago, then he was a dead man.

"I represent the Rich Man."

"The who?" shouted someone.

"Ain't you never been out West, brother?" asked Roy.

"I been west as far as the mountains," said someone.

"Who's the Rich Man?" Dorca stage-whispered to Bonner, who had been everywhere.

"I never believed he existed," said Bonner, "thought he was just a rumor you hear on the edge of the Hotstates." The Hotstates was one of the slave territories Bonner was sworn to destroy.

"Then you should go over the mountains, friend. There you'll find the Rich Man, my boss and a fine employer."

"A what?"

"That's why I'm here tonight," said Roy. "The Rich Man has a land of plenty with wealth and food and gasoline . . . But he's being threatened and he needs some trusty guns to help him defend it. He heard that the fine men of Chicago, the last free men in the eastern half of the continent, are the toughest, most skilled fighters that this land has to offer. He sent me here to hire as many of you who want to fight for him. All you gotta do is come along with me and the Rich Man is prepared to pay you twenty gold slates a day. Twenty gold slates and all your gas, all your ammo, all the food you need to fill your belly and liquor you can drink. What do you say?"

Roy sort of expected a shout of solidarity, a rush of Chicago guns to his side. Instead, he got silence. These men hadn't lived as long as they had by being damn fools. They weren't afraid to take on a risky proposition—they did that every day, it was their lives' work—but they wanted details, they wanted to judge the odds for themselves.

"Who is this Rich Man?" asked Wasaki. "You ever heard of him, Bonner?"

"Friend," said Roy, "I'll tell you who the Rich Man is ..."

"Beggin' your pardon, Roy," said Wasaki amicably, "but I'd rather heard it spoke by Mr. Bonner."

"I heard of the Rich Man, Wasaki," said Bonner slowly. "Never have seen him. And I don't know anyone else who has either."

"Let's say this Rich Man does live," said the rider named Robert E. Lee, "who might his enemies be?"

"Snowmen," said Roy.

"Hell," said Robert E. Lee, "he needs help fighting snowmen?'"

"The Rich Man's territory is small. And he don't have no fighting slaves. His guns are hired. It's not a question of skill, it's a question of size. There are more Snowmen than there are men fighting for the Rich Man."

"And how long we gotta fight?" asked someone else.

"Until there ain't no enemies fighting against the Rich Man," said Roy. "And when it's all done you are free to return to Chicago or set up in the Land of the Rich Man. Your choice."

"And twenty slates a day and gas and ammo and food and liquor, for sure?" said Wasaki.

"That's the size of it, friend," said Roy.

"Then include me in."

"Gladly, friend."

"And stop calling me friend." : A dozen or two other voices chorused in. "I'll go." "Me too." "Hell, I ain't got nothing planned. . ."

"We're moving out tomorrow morning," said Roy. "Form up outside Dorca's at first light and we ride west."

"I ain't never heard of no one crossing the mountains before," said Clara.

"It's easy if you know how," said Roy.

"Bonner," asked Clara, "you ever done it?"

"Yes," he said, "1 did it once or twice."

"When?" someone asked'.

"A long time ago." He had done it back in the Outriding days. Leather, his best friend back in those days, had been at his side.

Roy had ambled over to where Bonner stood, leaning against the bar. "Did I hear the man there refer to you as Bonner."

"Yep," said Bonner, "you did."

"They say that you're the finest rider on the Continent."

"Do they?" said Bonner.

"Yes, they do. And I'm sure my employer would consider it a honor to have you riding in his cause."

"Would he?"

"Yes, he would. Perhaps you'd care to join us."

"No," said Bonner, "no, I wouldn't care to join you."

"Bonner rides when he wants and with the guys he wants," said Dorca. "He don't work for nobody."

"That's too bad," said Roy. He turned to Clara who was putting a ragged-end cigar butt—the patrons of Dorca's called them dog turds, or DTs—in her mouth and looking for the steel that she used to light things. Roy flipped the top off an ornate old cigarette lighter and lit it for her. "How about you, madam?"

"Fuck off," said Clara, blowing smoke out of the corner of her mouth.

In the time it takes for a snake to strike at its victim, Bonner's strong hand shot out and caught Roy's thick wrist in his iron-hard fist. It was the hand that held the lighter.

"Where did you get that?" the Outrider asked softly through clenched teeth.

Roy's false bonhomie vanished. The pain from his wrist was excruciating. It felt as if steel bands had closed over the bone and were squeezing tight. "Fuck you."

Bonner whipped the rider around, controlling Roy by his agonized arm the way he shifted gears on his big war wagon. Bonner slammed him up against the bar, the edge of the long wood digging into Roy's stomach. His hand was turning blue and it slowly let go of the lighter.

A few of Roy's boys, the ones he walked in with, not the ones he had just recruited, reached for their guns. Clara and Artie had their weapons on them in a flash; Dorca and the Mean Brothers moved into position, ready to do some damage a little closer in if Roy's men tried anything.

"I don't think you boys want to get involved," observed Dorca.

Bonner upset the cup of Dorca's brew that had sat in front of Clara. There was at least a pint of liquid in the beaker and Bonner had pushed Roy's face down close to the bar. The fumes of the alcohol went straight up Roy's nose. With his free hand, Bonner picked up the lighter, looked at it for a second—he stared at the entwined initials AT&SF and knew there was no doubt. He flipped it open and struck the wheel. The flame spurted up.

Bonner made sure that Roy saw the flicker of the blue flame and then lowered it down close to the lake of liquor on the bar. Bonner pushed Roy's face into it. "Now," said Bonner evenly, "it's very simple. Either you tell me where you got this lighter or you get your face melted."

"SHOOT THE FUCK!" screamed Roy to his men. A number of the other riders in the room—the men who called themselves Bonner's friends, or wished they were, had leveled their weapons at Roy's hard boys.

"Awww boss," said Roy's second. "Smitty, I gave you an order," rasped out Roy. Smitty rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders. "Okay," he said to Bonner, half-heartedly, "let Roy go."

His answer was Clara slipping a round into the chamber of Miss Colt.

"I tried, boss," he said.

Bonner lowered the flame to the trail of liquor. As it went up, Roy screamed, "Okay!"

Bonner yanked his head back, the sheet of flame exploding just under Roy's nose.

"Okay," said Bonner, "where did you get this thing?"

"The Rich Man gave it to me."

"And where did he get it."

"I dunno. He's the Rich Man. He owns every -ing."

Bonner twisted the arm he still held. "Not good enough, friend."

"I'm telling you. I told you. He gave it to me. He gave it me just before I left for this trip. It was a present. He's a rich guy ..."

Bonner knew that he was inflicting quite a bit of pain on the man. He also knew that people like Roy told the truth when their bones stood a very good chance of splitting and breaking through the skin.

Bonner pushed the man away, letting him go as he did so. "Now why didn't you say so up front?"

"Fuck you."

Bonner shrugged. "You would have saved a lot of trouble."

Dorca spoke. "I think you might be leaving now, mister. You never gonna know how lucky you were."

"Well, fuck you too, fatso."

Dorca didn't even think about it. The club swung up off the bar and caught Roy on the chin. His jaw shifted position and his teeth crunched and he went down. It was the blow Dorca called his "nightcap." Roy went down.

"Take him out and make sure he don't come back," Dorca yelled. His voice was so loud and so mad it sounded like The Mean Brothers had dropped another piano.

Roy's men dragged their leader out of the place. Before they left one of them stopped. "Listen," he said, "the deal is still on. Anyone who wants to ride with us, tomorrow at daylight. Here. Outside."

The riders fell to talking among themselves. "Can't beat the money," said someone.

"Yeah, but what an asshole " said another.

Bonner turned to the men that had covered him and Clara and Dorca. "Thanks," he said.

One of the Mean Brothers tapped Bonner on the shoulder and pointed to the door. He wanted to know if Bonner wanted him and his brother to go outside and finish the job.

"No, that's okay. Mean-man, let it ride."

The Mean Brother shrugged, as if to say. "No trouble, but suit yourself ..."

"I dunno," said Dorca to Bonner and Clara, "you try to run a nice place, get some entertainment in an stuff like that, and guys still act like uncultured morons. Beats the hell our of me. Artie. Gimme a glass of sugar." Dorca never drank, he just salved his sweet tooth with buckets full of white sugar, a very rare commodity on the continent.

Bonner finished up his drink. "Feel like doing any riding?" he asked the Mean Brothers.

Asking the Mean Brothers if they felt like riding with Bonner was like asking a man dying of thirst if he wanted a drink. The two identical giants nodded happily.

"So where we going?" demanded Dorca.

"West," said Bonner.

"Whaffor?"

"To find Seth," said Bonner.

Dorca watched The Outrider leave his joint with the Mean Brothers on his heels. Then he turned to Clara. "Don't ask me what the hell that was all about."

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