He couldn't have imagined it. A respectable woman like that. A school-marm. And him. Coming back from robbing banks and trains and being welcomed into her house, to her table, her bed. She wouldn't sew his clothes, she said, she's not his wife. But she'd sew his wounds when she had to.

He could have been a respectable man if he'd wanted. Gone straight. Got her to sew his clothes too. He didn't become a criminal for the fun of it. Well, maybe he did. Sounded better than pushing a plough, and he could never drive a nail straight. Sweating over a forge or running a livery? Not for him. Life on the range as cowboy? More hard work.

Trouble was, crime was just another job too, when you started doing it. A man sweated so much stealing the money that he started to wonder if just earning it wouldn't be easier. That big score he always dreamed about? The one that would set him up for life? Yeah, it never quite seemed to happen. You could never find all that money in one place at one time. So you tried to save it up from lots of jobs. And that didn't happen either, because you sure as hell weren't putting it in any bank.

"Hey, you watching?" Butch said, punching his arm.

"Of course I'm watching."

Of course he was. They were still coming. He couldn't see them right now, and he and Butch had dared to take a short rest. But he knew they were still coming. They'd never stop.

He should have gone straight long ago. Gone home to the school-marm. Instead they'd done one job too many and now these guys wouldn't stop coming after them, not ever, not until they were dead.

"There they are."

There they were. Still coming. Time to go.

Would she miss him?