• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

“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