Towns were few, but when I came across one I had a meal and stuffed biscuits into my saddlebags for later. Rooster managed to thrive on what grass we found which told me he was a cow pony because they knew no other fare. Then in a town whose name I do not recall, I asked after Tombstone and was told the San Pedro River was ten miles ahead and Tombstone was five after that. “Almost there,” I told my horse and we set off at a good canter, making toward that river.

It shone up ahead. Sun had broke through, though the wind never let up. We got into the water, drank our fill, and I washed such as I could. We camped on the river bank that night, and I lay dreaming of prosperity. Then I woke next morning to a kick in my side and a rifle pointed my way. Three men stood around me. “You fellows mean to rob me,” I said, “you’ve picked badly because I have nothing.”

“Turn out your pockets,” ordered the one with the gun. He bore a copper colored beard, a dusty black hat with fancy silver band, and stank of sweat. I gave up the dollar I had left and he laughed. “Guess your horse will have to make up the difference.”

“You’d leave me here with no mount?”

“Tombstone’s just five miles yonder.”

Guns remained on me until they were on their horses at which they rode off with Rooster in tow. “Well, shit,” I said aloud, then again and again. I stomped around some, then took a last drink of water and set out to walk. Reminding myself I wasn’t in a cell wore thin at this point.

I’ve no idea how far I’d traveled when a rider came up behind me. “If you’re looking to rob me,” I called out as I kept walking, “it’s been done. There’s nothing left to take.”

He rode up beside me and I stopped. “Don’t mean any harm,” he said. “I saw you walking and thought you might like a lift.”

“That I would.”

“I trust you’re headed for Tombstone?”

“I am. Rode all the way from Yuma, then got robbed of horse and money at the San Pedro.”

“Well, that’s a hell of a fix. Climb up.” Here he slipped a boot from his stirrup and reached out a hand. I used the stirrup and his strength to get up behind him. “Name’s Clay Bowman,” he said back over his shoulder.

“Roy Shuster. Good to meet you and thanks for picking me up.”

“My pleasure.”

After a good while, Clay asked, again back over his shoulder, if I’d ever been to Tombstone.

“I have not. Hear it’s quite a place.”

“That it is. Just up ahead now.”

I kept a watch out and soon there came the town which lay spread out below a mesa on which it appeared there were mines. Tombstone was bigger than I expected, sprawling every which way with good buildings and fine streets. We rode into the center of things and stopped out front of the Grand Hotel. Here I slipped off and Clay got down too.

“You’ve got two choices,” he said. “The marshal is a friend of mine and on my say so will let you sleep in a cell if there’s an empty, or you can put up with me. I’m staying here.”

I’d already noted his good body, what with riding behind him. Now, standing opposite, I guessed him about six feet which was impressive to my five foot nine. His features were striking, his brown eyes drilling me like those of a hungry man. My dick stirred and I told him I’d put up with him. “Expect jail would be noisy accommodations,” I added.

“You got that right. You should check in with the marshal, though, tell him you were robbed just in case the men show up with your horse. That way you’ve already staked your claim. We can go down there after I check us in and we clean up.”

I followed him into the hotel where nobody batted an eye at us doubling up because it’s common practice among men looking to cut costs. Upstairs we went and into a second floor room where Clay tossed his saddlebags onto a chair, then hat and gunbelt. I stood watching as he stripped off his shirt and undershirt. I fear I grew wide eyed at the sight because he had the body every man covets. Muscular and smooth, his chest was well formed with tit nubs dark and appealing. When he caught me looking, he laughed and said I could strip off as well.