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It felt good to walk in the shade of the two oak trees. Stanley wondered if this was how a condemned man felt on his way to the electric chair—appreciating all the good things in life for the last time.
“It’s only toxic while it’s wet.” She finished painting her nails, then stood up . . . She ran her sharp wet nails very gently down his cheek . . . The nail on her pinkie just barely touched the wound behind his ear. A sharp sting of pain caused him to jump back.
He went over to his hole, and to his surprise it was nearly finished. He stared at it, amazed. It didn’t make sense.
He felt a jolt of astonishment. His mouth silently formed the name Kate Barlow, as he wondered if it really could have belonged to the kissin’ outlaw.
“You thirsty, Caveman?” Mr. Sir asked. “Yes, Mr. Sir,” Stanley said, handing his canteen to him. Mr. Sir opened the nozzle, and the water flowed out of the tank, but it did not go into Stanley’s canteen. Instead, he held the canteen right next to the stream of water.
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