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Eli lay on that couch, eyes closed, thick black hair matted to his head. Face flushed like it was, I slipped my hand over the back of the couch to feel of his forehead and his fast horse almost got a piece of my sleeve.
Shot to my full height then, waving both arms. "Get out of here, damn you. Go on."
Kept waving, warning, trying to back that horse off some, and Eli opened his eyes.
"Cricket, you damn fool," he snapped and slapped his right hip.
Shot the ceiling, horse was out the door. Brought his revolver to his chest, folded his left arm over and said, "Listen, friend, if you mean to kill me with that Colt, roll your dice."
I liked him instantly.
"If I meant to, I'd be done already," I said.
His eyes closed.
"Abe Stone's son," I said. "Aren't you?"
Mumbled something I didn't catch.
"Do you know One Who Knows?"
Sounded dumb as hell when I heard myself say it, but like I said, that's never stopped me before.
Nothing out of Eli. A hand to his forehead, he was frying.
That's how I met Eli Stone face-to-face. He didn't actually meet me for a few days though.