We prepared to return to Laredo.

I was to take the prisoner, a middle-aged ex-convict, in my car, Dobe was to drive Sessions' car, and Sessions got the load vehicle. Then we found out about the missing keys to the pickup.

"There's a trick to starting it," said the prisoner. "Take the cuffs off me, and I'll reach under the dash and fix the wire."

Before I could stop him, Sessions started to comply.

"Hold on there," Dobe said gruffly. He bent under the steering wheel, reached up under the dash, and came up with a loaded and cocked .38 Super Colt automatic.

"This what you're after, partner? I'm glad you brought it. It'll get you maybe an extra couple of years."

Dobe handed me the pistol. We finally managed to start the pickup, which was stolen and hot-wired. We returned in caravan to the office.

Dobe sat near my desk as I interrogated and wrote up the prisoner. The man broke down and told us his whole story.

"It's been a hard-luck deal from the beginning," he complained. "I figured on doubling my money fast and got a few friends to invest. They'll be after me now. That Tacuache charged me almost double what I intended to pay for the grass. Then it took a whole day to round it up and load it. I had tire trouble.

"And then the damnedest thing happened," he continued. "I was parked at a shopping center, waiting for dark, and decided to buy some cigarettes. While I was in the drugstore, I looked out the window and saw a gray-headed old coot walk up to my pickup, take out a gun, smash the taillight, and walk off. I didn't want to tangle with no looney with a gun, so I just let him go and got the hell out of there. The whole world's against me."

Dobe stood up, his face reddening, and said, "If that's all you need from me, Skeet, I'll be headin' back to the Turkey Track. This city life's too fast for me."

Author's Note: I am constantly asked if Dobe Grant really exits. He does, but not as a single man. He is the essence of at least four old-timers that I know and have known.