Sheriff Cole and Mayor McGinley were resting their horses out by the Talahoe lake.
It wasn't a proper lake, not that big, but at ten miles from town it was a good stopping place when the blazing day makes you grimace and suffer under the weight and blistering heat of a blacksmith's sky. It was plain Mayor McGinley's horse was tired, the way it's head rocked. Both men dismounted early.
I tucked myself behind some rocks. Sometimes you don't fancy talking: or listening either, being told you shouldn't be this far outa town on your own, go home young lady.