Five shots! Frye was up, seeing Jordan slapping the gun barrel across the horse's rump. He hear d firing below him. Dandy Jim. Jordan was runnin g now, not looking back, his right leg out of the stirrup, holding close to the horse's off side. Frye fired, aiming at the horse now, but the horse did not g o down. And in a moment it was too late. Jordan ha d disappeared into the trees.
How could you miss! Frye thought. He was angry because he had hurried the shot. Missing Jorda n the first time was not his fault: the horse ha d reared. But the second shot: Jordan was running , for seconds less than a hundred yards away, and h e had let himself be hurried. Now, there was not tim e to stand thinking about what he should have done , though as he went down the slope, scramblin g from rock to rock, making sure of his footing, the n sliding down on the loose gravel, he could still se e Jordan crouched low in the saddle laying his pisto l barrel across the horse's rump.
And as Frye reached the base of the slope, it went through his mind: Maybe you did hit him, but no t where it would knock him down.
Dandy Jim approached along the edge of the pines. He was on his gelding and leading Frye's.
"How could we have missed?"
The Coyotero shook his head. "But I think we took the horse."
Frye looked across the open three hundred yards to the denseness of the trees and the rocks beyond.
"He could be waiting for us to come after him," he said, squinting toward the trees, dark and unmoving beyond the sunlight. "But probably he won't wait, because he doesn't know how many we are."
He looked at Dandy Jim, but the Coyotero's face was without expression and he did not speak. "I f his horse was hit, it might have dropped just in th e trees. Then he would have gone on afoot . . . o r waited, thinking one place to stand was as good a s another."
Now the Coyotero nodded.
Frye swung up. "We could talk about it a long time, but there's only one way to find out for sure."
He was looking at Dandy Jim as he kicked his dun forward and he saw a smile touch the corner of th e Coyotero's mouth.
Riding across the meadow Frye could feel his shoulders pulled up tensed and he told himself t o relax, thinking: A shoulder's no good against a .45 s lug, is it? Still, he could feel the tightness inside o f him and just telling himself to relax wasn't enough.
They covered most of the distance at a trot, then slowed to a walk the last few dozen yards and entered the trees this way, their carbines ready. There was no sound and slowly Frye could feel the tightness within him easing. If he's close, he thought, he would have fired when we were in the open or jus t coming in.
The Coyotero pointed ahead and Frye could see clearly the path Jordan's horse had made breakin g into the brush. His gaze lowered, coming bac k along the ground, and now he noticed the streak s of blood that were almost continuous leading fro m where they stood to the brush clumps.
"There's no doubt we got his horse," he said to Dandy Jim.
The Apache nodded, answering, "It won't last very long."
"We'd better go on foot."
"I think so," the Apache said. "Listen," he added then. "I think I should go first, and yo u should follow, leading the horses."
"Why should you go first?" Frye said.
"Because I always do."
"There's nothing that says you have to." He could see that the Coyotero wanted to do this t o protect him. "I'm the one responsible for bringin g him back," Frye said.
"I think we're wasting time now," Dandy Jim said. He turned abruptly and started for the brus h leaving Frye with the horses. But as he passed between the first clumps he looked back and saw that Frye was following him, leading the horses, holdin g the reins in his left hand. He had replaced the Winchester in its saddle boot and now he had drawn the Colt and was carrying it in his right hand.
They moved steadily through the brush patch stopping when they came to the end of it. Fro m here the signs of blood angled more to the left , gradually climbing a bare slope, a slide of loos e shale that reached openly almost to the rim hig h above them. He could be waiting up there, Fry e thought. But if he didn't wait before, why shoul d he now?
Halfway up the slope the blood tracks veered abruptly and slanted down again into the trees. Hi s horse couldn't make it, Frye thought. They followed, the shale crunching, sliding beneath their feet as they went down, and in the trees again it wa s quiet.
Now Frye watched Dandy Jim who was almost twenty yards ahead of him. He would see th e branches move as the Coyotero moved steadil y along, but he would hear no sound. Farther along , he began to catch glimpses of the stream throug h the pine branches to the right. Then ahead he coul d see a part of the stream in full view, and as h e looked at it he saw Dandy Jim stop.
The Coyotero went down on his stomach, remaining there for what must have been ten minutes before rising slowly and coming back, runnin g crouched, toward him.
"His horse," Dandy Jim said, reading him.
"Where?"
"By the stream."
"And you didn't see the man?"
"No. The horse is at the edge of the stream, part of it in the water."
"Dead?"
"Not yet."
"Quickly then."
The Coyotero turned and crept back toward the stream. Frye followed, but left the horses wher e they were.
Jordan's horse was at the edge of the stream, its hind quarters in the water and its head up on th e bank. As the swell of stomach moved, bloo d poured from a bullet wound in the horse's righ t flank. It colored the water, red as it came from th e horse, brown fading to nothing as it poured into th e water and was moved along by the small current.
The horse had been shot again just behind the right shoulder; and as Frye started to cross th e stream, looking down at the horse as he steppe d into the water, he saw where another bullet had entered the withers; probably his first shot and he wondered briefly why it had not killed the horse o n the spot.
He saw Jordan's footprints before he stepped out of the water. They bore to the left following th e stream.
He signaled to Dandy Jim, who ran back through the trees for their horses. Then, watchin g him as he brought them back, he saw the Coyoter o go to one knee next to Jordan's horse, then saw hi m bring out his knife and cut the animal's throat i n one slash. The Coyotero brought their horse s across then.
"Listen," Frye said, "let's do it this way now.
You go up the slope and work along the edge. I'll stay on his sign and from time to time watch fo r you to signal. He won't climb out of here now, no t without a horse."
"But he could when night comes," Dandy Jim said.
"We've got to pin him down before that."
They arranged a signal: every ten minutes the Coyotero would imitate the call of a verdin. If h e located Jordan he would imitate a crow. Then h e would either return to Frye or lead him on to Jordan by the same signals.
Frye watched Dandy Jim ride out of sight into the pines before he went on, following Jordan's footprints: at first, the marks of high-heeled boot s that were easily read in the sand; but farther on, a s the sand gave way to rocky ground, the marks wer e less apparent. And often he went on without a sig n to follow, choosing one path through the rock s rather than another because it seemed more direct , less likely to bring him back to a point he had already passed.
Twice he heard the verdin, perhaps a hundred yards ahead of him and up on the slope.
Then again. This time it seemed to be closer.
Frye entered the narrowness of a defile and stopped in the deep shadow of it to drink from hi s canteen. He took a bandanna from his pocket an d wetting it, wiped his horse's muzzle, cleaning th e nostrils. Then, as he started out again, he stoppe d and drew back into the shadows instinctively as th e sound of gunfire came from somewhere off to th e right up on the slope.
Two shots from a revolver and a heavier report that was still echoing through the rocks.
Springfield, Frye thought. Dandy's on him and it must have been une
xpected with no time for th e signal. He reached past the horse's shoulder an d drew his Winchester and turning back, his eyes momentarily caught a movement in the lower pines.
He raised the Winchester, waiting as the minutes passed.
There!
The figure darted from the trees running crouched low. The sound of the Springfield cam e from higher up on the slope and the split-second h e heard it Frye fired.
Too late. He was behind rocks now.
Frye had waited because he had not been able to identify the figure, and by the time the Springfiel d told him who it was, it was too late.
But now you're sure, Frye thought, looking at the rocks where Jordan had disappeared. Now yo u know where he is . . . and all you have to do is go i n and get him. Or wait him out.
He studied the terrain thoughtfully. He was slightly higher than Jordan's position and beyon d those rocks there appeared to be an open meadow.
Probably, Frye thought, that's why he turned into the pines. He didn't want to cross the open. No t now. To the east was the pine-thick slope, an d Dandy Jim. Frye was to the south. Beyond th e stream was the steep slope to the west. It could b e climbed, but much of it was bare rock and it woul d take time . . . if Jordan ever reached it, which wa s improbable. Still, Jordan could move around t o some degree in a fifty-yard radius of rock an d brush.
All of this went through Frye's mind and he concluded: He has to be pinned to one spot before dark and not be able to leave it.
He was sure that the Coyotero realized this.
Now it was a question of working together. But first, Frye thought, tell Dandy where you are.
He aimed quickly at the spot where Jordan had disappeared and fired. Now be ready, he thought.
The Springfield opened up. One . . . two . . . on the second shot Frye was moving, running veerin g to the left . . . three . . . diving behind a rock covering as a revolver shot whined over his head and ric--o cheted off the crest of the rock. Frye exhaled, clos e to the ground. Now they both know.
He crawled along behind the cover of the rocks, then raised his head slowly until he was looking a t Jordan's position from another angle. But he coul d not see the gunman even from here.
A little more around, Frye thought. And a little closer. He brought the Winchester up and fire d quickly.
The Springfield answered covering him. Frye was up running straight ahead, then to the lef t again. He found cover, went to his knees, but onl y momentarily. The Winchester came up with hi s head-GCo Jordan! A glimpse of him disappearing, dropping into a pocket among the rocks.
Frye fired, levered and fired again--four times, bracketing the pocket and nicking one off the to p of the rocks where Jordan had gone down.
It had worked. Jordan was still behind cover, but now he could not move, not three feet without exposing himself; and even darkness would do him little good.
Now we'll see how good he is, Frye thought.
We'll see how good his nerves are--and if he has any patience. I should have told Dandy how he i s with a gun. No, he already knows it. He was insid e the jail when Jordan let go at Harold Mendez. An d he heard how Jordan came out of the La Nori a mescal shop. So he won't underestimate him.
Frye was on his stomach, but with his elbows raising him enough to see over the rocks and dow n the barrel of the Winchester in front of him.
Mesquite bunched thickly all around him and even with his eyes above the rocks he knew Jorda n would not see him. Not unless he fired. And Fry e had no intention of firing. Jordan was flanked. He was cut off from water and cut off from escape-GCo u nless pure luck sided with him.
For the second time this day Frye settled down to wait. He knew Dandy Jim would do the same. He was Apache and would not rush into somethin g that could be solved with patience. Dandy Jim ha s it figured out better than you, Frye thought. He's done this more times than you have. Let the quietness work on Jordan. Let him realize he's alone and there's nothing he can do about it. Let him thin k until he's tired of thinking. Then he will do something. He might even give himself up. If he does, wrap fifty feet of rope around him and still don't trust him. But it won't be that way, will it?
Frye waited and the time passed slowly.
It was less than two hours later, though it seemed longer, when Jordan started to do something.
"Frye!"
Frye looked up at the unexpected sound of his name. He could not see Jordan, but he knew it wa s Jordan who had called. He watched, feeling th e stock of the carbine against his cheek, and did no t answer.
"Frye!"
He waited.
"Goddamn-it that's your name, isn't it!"
I didn't think you knew it, Frye said to himself.
Then--"Frye! Come on out and we'll talk it over!"
Silence.
"You hear me!"
For a few minutes it was quiet.
"Listen . . . I turned my ankle and can't get out of this goddamn hole!"
Let's see you try, Frye said to himself.
"Come on over and we'll talk this thing out!"
You're doing all right as it is, Frye thought.
Silence again, but suddenly Jordan called, "Frye, you son of a bitch, come on out!"
Frye smiled, thinking: He's getting warmer.
"What kind of a law man are you!"
Silence.
"You're such a brave goddamn law man walk on over here!"
Keep talking, Frye thought.
"Frye . . . I'll make you a bet!"
Silence.
"I'll bet all the money I got you're not man enough to stand up the same time I do!"
What about your ankle?
"You hear me!"
I hear you . . . but I'm not buying in.
"I'm counting three and then standing up!"
Frye looked down the Winchester.
"One!"
Silence.
"Two!"
There was a longer pause.
"Three!"
Frye saw the crown of a hat edge hesitantly above the rocks. He was ready to fire. But the ha t tilted awkwardly and he knew it was being held b y a stick. His finger relaxed on the trigger.
The hat disappeared.
"You yellow son of a bitch!"
Work yourself up--it went through Frye's mind--till you can't stand any more.
"I gave you credit before . . . but you're nothing but a goddamn woman!"
I hope Dandy Jim can understand some of this, Frye thought.
Now there was a long silence that lasted for the better part of an hour. Then Jordan called for th e last time.
"Frye . . . you win! But you're not taking me!"
Silence. Then a single revolver shot.
Frye smiled, hearing the shot die away. Clay, you should have been on the stage.
Throughout the long afternoon there was no sound from the pocket. Frye's eyes stayed on it. He shifted positions as his body became cramped an d he smoked cigarettes to help pass the time. As dus k settled, coming quickly between the steep slopes o f the valley, he removed his boots, his hat and cartridge belt. Then he cupped his hands to his mouth and whistled the call of a verdin.
He waited until it was darker, then moved on hands and knees a dozen yards to the left and imitated the call again.
Dandy Jim would know that he was moving.
And if he was moving it meant only one thing.
Close in and get Jordan.
He waited a longer time now, until the moon-GCo w hat there was of it--appeared above the easter n slope; then Frye began to crawl forward, his Colt i n his right hand, watching the rocks ahead of hi m pale gray in the moonlight.
Thirty yards to go.
All right, let's feel him out. Frye picked up a stone that filled his hand and threw it forward bu t to the left of Jordan's position.
He heard it strike and instantly the revolver answered.
Frye smiled in the darkness, even though he could feel the tension inside of him. He's good in a saloon fight, he t
hought, but he's not worth a dam n at this. All right. Now you know for sure.
He inched forward a dozen yards and stopped.
His hand groped for a stone. Finding one he threw it backhanded toward Jordan.
The stone rattled over the rocks and this time he saw the flame spurt as the revolver went off.
He's not taking any chances.
Now, off beyond Jordan's position he heard the hoot of an owl that he knew was not from an owl.
Dandy Jim was closing in. Frye crept forward.
He heard the owl again much closer and this time Jordan's revolver answered it. Frye move d quickly and he reached the rocks that rose in fron t of the pocket as Jordan's shot echoed to nothing.
Now Frye could hear him: a boot scraped in the loose gravel. He could picture Jordan on the othe r side of the rock moving around the pocket trying t o pierce the darkness, trying to see where they wer e hiding. Frye pressed close and shifting his Colt t o his left hand, edged in that direction along th e smooth side of the rock.
If he has one gun there are two bullets left in it.
No, he thought then, hurriedly, you can't count shots. He's had time to reload.
Wait for Dandy. The next time is the one. In his mind he hesitated and he told himself: Just do it.
Do it and get it the hell over with.
God . . . help me-GCo
It came suddenly, just beyond the pocket, not an owl sound as he had expected, but the shriek of a coyote, the howl cut off abruptly at its peak as th e revolver went off.
Frye moved around the smooth turn of the rock bringing up his Colt.
"Jordan--"
In the moonlight he saw Jordan turning, saw his eyes wide open for a split second before he felt th e Colt jump in his hand. Close on the explosion h e fired again and five feet away from him Jorda n went down, his hands clutched to his face.
Frye called out softly into the darkness, "He's dead," and a moment later Dandy Jim was standing next to him. Frye took Jordan's billfold for identification and gave the dead man's gun and holster to Dandy Jim.
"He died poorly," the Coyotero said strapping it on.
They buried Jordan in the pocket and at first light climbed the slope and ran their horses again the wa y they had come. It was still the early part of th e morning when they descended the slope to the clearing where they had left Danaher. They would water their horses here, then pick up Danaher's sign. Bu t as they crossed the stream they saw Ford Gos s standing next to his horse waiting for them.