He watched Buz search them, stuffing bills and coins into his pockets as he went along. "About how much?" he asked when he had finished.
"Not more than a hundred and fifty."
"What about that satchel there?" He pointed to the business case on the floor.
Instantly Sellers said, "Those are government papers!" More calmly he said, "Bureau statistics."
Ed Fisher said, "Buz, open it up."
The gunman lifted the case and looked at Fisher with surprise. "If there's writin' in here, it's cut on stone." He carried it to the table and unfastened the straps and opened it. He brought out something folded in newspaper and unwrapped it carefully. A leather pouch. He pulled the thongs quickly, eagerly, and dumped the pouch upside-down on the table. The coins came out in a shower.
"Ed! Mint silver!"
Fisher was grinning at Sellers. "How much, Buz?"
"Four, five, six pouches . . . about two thousand!"
Corsen was looking out of the window. There was something, a movement high up on the slope. Then, hearing Buz, he glanced quickly at Sellers. That was it, plain enough. Sellers didn't make that kind of money with a Bureau job. It could only come from selling Indian rations. But now, as the others watched Buz at the table, Corsen's eyes narrowed, looking out into the glare again, and now he could make out the movement. Far out, coming down from the slope, reaching the flat stretch now, were tiny specks, dots against the sand glare that he knew were riders. They were coming from where he had seen Bonito that morning, and suddenly, abruptly, Corsen realized who the riders were. Ed Fisher was saying, "Get two horses and run off the others. One's saddled already." He looked at the men in front of him. "Whose mount is that in the shed, the chestnut?" Corsen looked from the window as the screen door slammed behind Buz going out. "The chestnut's mine," he said.
"Thanks for the use."
"You're not going anywhere."
Fisher looked at him quickly, then smiled, his eyes going to Katie. "If you want to play Mister Brave for your girl, wait for when I got more time."
"It's not me that's stopping you," Corsen said, "but I'll tell you again--you're not going anywhere."
"You can talk plainer than that."
"All right. Call to your partner."
"What'll that prove?"
"Just see if he's still there."
Fisher, yelled, "Hey--Buz!"
There was a silence, then boot scuffing and Buz was at the door. "What?"
Fisher looked at Corsen, then back to Buz.
"Nothing. Hurry up."
Buz looked at him queerly and moved off again.
"Now what?" Fisher said.
"It'll come," Corsen said. "He hasn't seen them yet."
"Seen who?"
And there it was, as if answering his question- the sound of running, boots on packed sand. Buz's voice yelling, hoarse with panic. Then he was at the door, stumbling against it. " 'Paches!"
"Stay where you are!" Fisher held his pistol on the men at the bar and backed toward the door. He glanced out. "How many?"
"Six of them! Let me in!"
"Keep watching!"
Through the window Corsen could now see the cluster of riders plainly, walking their ponies. They were in no hurry--not six, but five, coming across the flat stretch.
"They're peaceful." It was Sellers who said this.
"There hasn't been a war party around here in over a year."
Corsen looked at him. "They're twenty miles off the reservation."
"They've been known to wander, but when they do, they have to be taught a lesson. That was your trouble, Corsen--too easy on them. Verbiest, you come along with me and see how it's done." Corsen said quietly, "Bonito doesn't learn very fast."
"Bonito?" Sellers showed surprise. "He's down in the Madres."
"He wasn't this morning when I talked to him."
"And you're just now telling me?"
"I was fired."
Fisher glanced out the door again, then back, his eyes stopping on Sellers. "Have you got something to do with them?"
Sellers did not answer, but Teachout said, "He's with the Bureau of Indian Affairs."
"Then this is your party, mister," Fisher said, looking at Sellers.
"I'm not obligated to confront known hostiles. That's common sense."
Fisher moved out of the doorway. "You don't have a choice. Get out there and find out what they want." He waved the long-barreled pistol. "Come on, all of you except the women. They stay here."
In the yard Corsen glanced back once at the two outlaws in the doorway. Then they had reached the adobe wall and his gaze swung back to the five Mescaleros who had reined in a hundred paces beyond the wall.
Bonito was a pony's length ahead of the others. He did not resemble the man Corsen had talked to earlier. The flop-brimmed hat was gone and now his coarse face was paint-streaked--a line of ochre from ear to ear crossing the bridge of his nose, another over his chin. His headband was yellow, bright against long hair glistening with oil. Only one thing about him was the same--the Maynard across his lap.
Behind him were Bil-Clin, chief at the Pinaleno Agency, Bil-Clin's son, Sunshine, and two other Indians. All four were armed with old-model carbines. Corsen's eyes remained on the Mescaleros, but he said to Sellers, "Let's see you go out and teach them a lesson."
Sellers did not reply at first. He kept his eyes on the five Apaches, waiting, expecting them to make a move. Then he said, "All right. Ask him what he wants."
Corsen hesitated. He wanted to make it hard for Sellers, not offer any assistance, but there was Katie and the others to think of. He boosted himself over the wall, then motioned to the Apaches to come on. They moved forward, Bonito still in the lead, and when they were less than ten feet from the wall Bonito raised his arm and they stopped there.
"Cor-sen, we speak to each other again."
"But this time not by accident." "You told me before that you were not with this one now." Bonito's eyes shifted to Sellers.
"These are not ordinary circumstances," Corsen answered. "Tell me why you are here and I'll relate it to him."
Bonito waited, then nodded toward Sellers.
"There is the reason."
"What would you have me tell him?"
"Tell him that he will come with us, until pesh-e-gar--many of them--are brought here tomorrow."
"Rifles!"
"Enough for as many of us that could stand in line from here to the house there. And many bullets for the pesh-e-gar. This one"--he nodded again to Sellers--"will remain with us until they are brought and the ones who bring them depart again. Then he will be released and my people will go with me from Pinaleno across the Bravos and there we will fight the Nakai-yes. "
Corsen turned to the others. "He says he needs guns to make war on the Mexicans." Then to Bonito. "You would, of course, not use the guns on this side of the Bravos."
Bonito nodded solemnly.
"The guns would have to be acquired at Fort Thomas. How do you know the Army would let you have them? Perhaps this man isn't worth a hundred rifles."
Bonito's face barely moved as he spoke. "Killing this one would be a reward in itself."
Corsen paused. "What if he refuses to go with you?"
"At Pinaleno you would find only the women and the children." He turned his head, indicating the dense pines of the higher slope. "The warriors are here, Cor-sen. You are six. Then two men in the house and two women. If he does not come with us, then we will come into your house there--"
Corsen concealed his surprise. "You observe our number well."
Bonito said, "I have been here longer than a full day, waiting for this time. And you see I did not count the Mexican man. He has agreed to remain with us until this one comes to take his place."
Corsen glanced at Billy Teachout. "He says they've got Delgado."
"Oh-my-God--"
Sellers moved closer to Corsen.
"What else does he want?"
"He wants you."
/>
"Me!"
"We get you back in exchange for about a hundred rifles," Corsen added. "I don't know what makes him think you're worth that many." "Tell him," Sellers said evenly, "that if he doesn't get back to Pinaleno by sundown he'll be shot. Along with Bil-Clin and his boy."
"Pinaleno has moved here," Corsen answered.
"The braves are up in the pines. If you don't go with them they'll swarm down all over us."
"They wouldn't get across the wall," Sellers sneered. "There aren't a dozen rifles among the pack of them."
"You forgot, we don't have any."
Sellers was silent. Then, "All right. When the stage doesn't arrive at Gila Ford this evening they'll know something's wrong and send help."
Corsen said, "There are three men at the Gila Ford Station."
"Then they'll get more help!" Sellers said angrily.
"In what--three or four days?"
"What's the matter?" Sellers taunted. "You scared?"
Corsen ignored the remark. "What about Delgado?"
Sellers shrugged. "One thing at a time. Tell him we'll go back and think it over, and let him know."
Corsen told him, and as they were turning to go he looked at Bil-Clin. "Now the chief of the Mescaleros follows the words of a bandit."
Bil-Clin shifted his eyes and did not reply.
Chapter Four.
Katie came out from the kitchen, edging by Buz, who was in the doorway, and went to Corsen. She had served them food and had now finished washing the dishes. Corsen was at the front window, looking off to the east, watching for a movement to change the monotony of the plain.
She stood close to him and he asked in a low voice, "How's Ygenia?"
"She's praying."
He wanted to say something consoling that she could take to Ygenia, but there was nothing. The Apaches had Delgado. They would keep him until Sellers turned himself over to them. And that was not likely to happen.
Katie's face was close to his. Serious, searching eyes repeating the question he could not answer.
She had been in the kitchen most of the time and she did not know all that had happened since the men had returned. Fisher was in the doorway, a silhouette against the faint outside dusk. Buz was by the kitchen door, holding his gun on the others at the bar end of the room, keeping an eye on Billy Teachout, who was in the kitchen watching the corral and yard. "Ross, why doesn't he force Sellers to go to the Indians?"
"Fisher would have to shoot him first," Ross said quietly. "This business about the rifles is the long chance. Bonito would like to have them, but I think he'd just as soon have Sellers--for one long day. Sellers knows it. You can't force him to go. No matter what he's stolen, he's a white man. Handing him to Bonito wouldn't be right."
"How long will he wait, Ross?"
"Bonito? He'll send us a message tonight, most likely. And if we don't act on it he'll come at sunup."
"The outlaw would have to give you guns then,"
Katie said.
Corsen nodded. "He's holding off as long as he can, waiting for a miracle. I feel kind of sorry for him. He can't fight off Bonito with just one man, but if he gives us guns he's through. He loses either way."
They were silent then, standing close to each other.
Corsen's gaze would come in from the dim plain and go about the room.
Fisher, in the doorway, glanced now and then at Sellers. You have to give him credit, Corsen thought. Sitting on the edge of his nerves until the last possible minute.
Buz looks hard, but he leans on Fisher. He could never do this alone. They thought they had something good, and it turns out to be the worst jackpot they could fall into. Let them stew in it. Billy and Ernie are men who know patience because they do more than just live here: they're part of the country. They'll sit through something like this and not show it.
Verbiest is afraid to open his mouth. His voice would give him away. He's so scared, he can taste it. And Sellers. He'll never believe he's through- and maybe he isn't. He's got his life at stake, plus a government post and two thousand dollars in government silver. The money must have come from selling agency stores. He'll scheme, confident that he'll think of something to pull him out of this. Bonito has nothing to lose. With a hundred warriors, and nothing to lose, he will probably win. Strips of gray light crossed the room from the doorway and the windows. Outside, the moonlight showed the station yard in dim, unmoving stillness, bounded by the adobe wall, a pale line against the darkness beyond. Corsen looked out of the window again, then moved toward Fisher. He saw the dull gleam of a pistol barrel bear on him and he said, "Ed. A word with you."
"Come ahead," Fisher said quietly.
"It'll be dark in a few minutes," Corsen said.
"You'd better give us our guns."
"I'll take my chances for a while."
"You won't be able to watch us in the dark--and you're not going to use a lamp with Bonito outside."
Fisher was silent. Then, "I'm trying to think it out," he said wearily.
"You don't have a choice," Corsen told him.
"Those are Mescaleros. You're old enough to know how they behave when they're up."
"No, I don't. Not the way I know what would happen if you people had guns. Buz and I would turn our backs once--"
"All right," Corsen said. "Then give back all the money you took."
"Tell them I was just kiddin', eh?"
"I'm thinking about two women being here,"
Corsen said, "and a hundred Mescaleros out there.
Make up your mind one way or the other--but do it before it's too late."
The sound came to them gradually. It came faintly, growing out of the darkness, at first a muffled sound, now the unmistakable clop of a horse moving at a slow walk. A chair scraped in the room. Fisher's voice rasped, "Quiet!"
In the stillness Fisher cocked his head, listening, then whispered close to Corsen's cheek, "It's stopped."
Corsen waited. "At the gate," he said.
"It's a trick." Fisher was talking to himself. "A damn Apache trick."
"Maybe it is." Corsen paused. "And maybe it isn't, Ed," he said quietly. "If I was to go out there, would you hold your gun that way?"
"You're crazy."
"Let's find out." Corsen pushed through the screen door without a sound and was moving across the yard. He walked unhurriedly, because if Bonito was behind the wall, running would not make a difference; the yard was open, and gray with moonlight. He reached the gate and stood with his hand on the heavy latch.
Fisher watched him tensely. He felt someone close to him and glanced to see the girl. Billy Teachout was behind her. They looked at Fisher, then out toward the gate, and they did not speak. In the darkness someone said, "What is it?" excitedly. At a window Ernie Ball's voice hissed. "Shhhhh!" They watched Corsen lift the iron latch. Then the shadowy figure pushed against the gate and the squeak of the hinges was a mournful screech with no other sounds in the night. Corsen went through the opening, and for the moment he was out of sight Katie held her breath. Then the gate swung wide and he was there again, leading the larger, darker shadow of a horse. A rider was atop the horse, head down, swaying gently with the movement of the horse's shoulders and flanks. Corsen closed the gate and came on, holding the horse close under the muzzle by a hackamore.
"Who is it?" from inside the doorway.
Fisher was in the yard now. He looked at Corsen, then toward the rider, questioningly.
Corsen went to the rider, raised his arms, and said gently, "Come, viejo. " The small figure toppled hesitantly, stiffly, into Corsen's arms. He heard someone behind him say, "Delgado--"
They carried him inside to a bedroom and eased him down onto the bed. And when the lamp was lighted next to the bed, no one recognized Delgado.
"Mary, Virgin and Mother," Ygenia said, close to Delgado's cheek, kneeling on the floor and stroking her hand gently over his head. When Katie came in with a basin of water, she mopped his face, washing the blood away. S
he moved the cloth over his eyes very gently and when she took it away she gasped and uttered the name of the Mother of God again. Delgado's face was knife scarred, small marks crisscrossing his cheeks. His nose was broken, that was evident, and his right eye was no longer in the socket.
His head came off the blanket, then fell back as the thin lines of his face tightened. He said, almost inaudibly, "Ross."
"I'm here," Corsen said close to his cheek.
"Don't talk now. Say it in the morning."
Delgado breathed. "Bonito did this to me. There were others who beat at me and stuck me with their knives, but it was Bonito who did this." His hand waved close to his face.
"As I gathered the fresh team, one of them broke away and I went after it afoot because this one was a friend and would come if I approached with gentleness. But this time he went a greater distance. When he was near the pinon he stopped and let me approach, and at that moment the barbarians came from out of the pines. Almost as if this friend had lured me to them--"
Corsen said gently, "Tell this in the morning."
Delgado turned his head, opening his left eye. "If you are here to listen." He waved his hand again.
"Bonito did this to me. He impressed upon me that when he comes he will take the remainder of my sight. I would not like that to happen. He said that you had failed him. Now he will enter this house with the coming of the sun. . . ."
Silence then. Corsen rose as Ygenia began to stroke Delgado's head. Fisher appeared in the doorway.
"Your guns are on the table," he said quietly.
Chapter Five.
Corsen pushed his gun belt lower on his hips and picked up the Winchester leaning against the support post. He heard the screen door close softly and peered into the darkness around the coach which they had pushed into the stable shed. A figure was moving along the front of the house toward him. It was Fisher. "There better be two of us out here. The east side of the house is a blind spot. And when the shootin' starts," he added, "I don't hanker to be in the same room with that thievin' government man. He could swing his barrel two feet and let go, easy as not." He looked at Corsen's carbine and holstered pistol. "You had them out here?"
"With the saddle," Corsen said.
"Where's your horse? It was here."