Duane met Hardin in the little plaza of the village, called him every name known to border men, taunted him to draw, and killed him in the act.
Duane went to the house of one Jones, a Texan who had known his father, and there he was warmly received.

The feel of an honest hand, the voice of a friend, the prattle of children who were not afraid of him or his gun, good wholesome food, and change of clothes--these things for the time being made a changed man of Duane.

To be sure, he did not often speak.

The price of his head and the weight of his burden made him silent.

But eagerly he drank in all the news that was told him.