It was a cold, hard night when Eli Walston came back from the grave. Suitable, I reckon, as Eli was as cold and hard a whoreson as ever I hung from a tree. I rode out to meet him.
"Victor."
"Eli. Cold night fer it."
He shrugged.
"Settle this over drinks and cards?"
"No."
I scratched under my hat. "One thing I cain't figger, Eli."
"What's that?"
"Why're you so anxious for my company? You shot at me fer a reason."
"Sonuvabitch." Eli paused. "Cards and whiskey, you said?"
"Trixie'll stay open if'n I ask."
Eli nodded. "Cold out, anyhow."
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