Wyatt watches him like a bouncing ball, head turning to follow the quick, jerking movements. The man like a puppet, all hard turns and waving hands, some unseen master yanking on his strings.
He actually recognized the German - the sound of it, if not the word itself - having heard it often enough in the border towns, a good many immigrants making the push west (distantly, he could remember the priest, traveling with his family, riding in the wagon behind the Earps). But before he could comment on it, Hawkeye was turning to talk of teddy bears and the memory was lost again.
He looked carefully at Max again - was just about to cock his head toward the trees, a silent suggestion to get while the gettin' was good - when Hawkeye spun to face them again.
"Yes." He said after a beat, waiting to be certain more wasn't coming.
A simple, direct reply. The truth, as Wyatt saw it.
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He actually recognized the German - the sound of it, if not the word itself - having heard it often enough in the border towns, a good many immigrants making the push west (distantly, he could remember the priest, traveling with his family, riding in the wagon behind the Earps). But before he could comment on it, Hawkeye was turning to talk of teddy bears and the memory was lost again.
He looked carefully at Max again - was just about to cock his head toward the trees, a silent suggestion to get while the gettin' was good - when Hawkeye spun to face them again.
"Yes." He said after a beat, waiting to be certain more wasn't coming.
A simple, direct reply. The truth, as Wyatt saw it.
Felt it.