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You have a woman, Treat thought, picturing her. You have one and you don’t have one. He thought of the time he had first spoken to her, the times they rode together and the time he first kissed her.

And now they’ll come again. But not Grady, because his ankle will put him to bed. Outwait an old man, he thought. Wait while an old man realizes he is not God, or God’s avenging angel, God’s right hand. Which could take no longer than your lifetime, he thought.

He took dried meat, a canteen, a blanket, the Henry, and a holstered Colt revolver and went out into the corral to wait for them.

THERE WERE FIVE that came. They reached Treat’s adobe at dusk, spreading out as they approached it, coming at it from both sides of the corral, two of the riders circling the stable shed and the adobe before entering the yard. Sandal dismounted and went into the adobe. He came out with a kerosene lantern and held it as Pyke struck a match and lit it.

“Who’s going to do it?” asked Sandal.

“You’re holding the fire,” Pyke said.

“Not me.” Sandal shook his head.

“Just throw it in. Hit the wall over the bed.”

“Not me. I’ve done enough to that man.”

“What about what he did to you?”

“He had reason.”

Pyke stepped out of the saddle. He jerked the lantern away from Sandal and walked to the door. His hand went to the latch, then stopped.

“Layo!” Sandal’s voice.

Pyke looked over his shoulder, saw Sandal not looking at him, but staring out toward the corral, and he turned full around, holding the lantern by the ring handle.

He saw Treat crossing the yard toward him. In the dusk he could not see the man’s features, but he knew it was Treat. He saw Treat’s hands hanging empty and he saw the revolver on his right leg. Now Sandal was moving the horses, holding the reins and whack-slapping at the rump of one to force both of them to the side. The horses of the three riders still mounted moved nervously, and the riders watched Treat, seeing him looking at Leo Pyke. Then, thirty feet from the ramada, Treat stopped.

“Leo, you tore my house down once. Once is enough.”

Pyke was at ease. “You’re going to stop us?”

“The last time you stated that you’d talk with a gun if I ever came close again.” Treat glanced at Sandal when Pyke said nothing. “Is that right?”

“Big as life,” the Mexican said.

Treat’s gaze returned to Pyke. “Well?”

“You got me at an unfair advantage,” Pyke said carefully. “A lantern in my hand. All the light full on me.”

“You came here to burn down my house,” Treat said, standing motionless. “You’re holding the fire, as you told Sandal. You’ve four men backing you and you call it a disadvantage.”

“Three men backing him,” Sandal said.

Beyond him one of the mounted riders said, “This part of it isn’t our fight.”

And Sandal added, “Just Layo’s.”

“Wait a minute.” Pyke was taken by surprise. “You all work for Mr. Kergosen. He says run him out, we do it!”

“But not carry him out,” the one who had spoken before said. “You threatened him, Leo; then it’s your fight, not ours. And if you think he’s got an unfair advantage, put the lantern down.”

“So it’s like that,” Pyke said.

“You got two feet,” Sandal said. “Stand on them. Show us how the segundo would do it.”

“Listen, you chili picker! You’re through!”

“Sure, Layo. Now talk to that boy out there.”

“Mr. Kergosen’s going to run every damn one of you!” Pyke half turned to face them, shifting the lantern to his left hand, the light swaying across Sandal and the chestnut color of his horse.

“We’ll talk to him,” Sandal said.

Pyke stared at him. “You know what you done, you and the rest? You jawed yourself out of jobs. You see how easy a new one is to find. Mr. Kergosen’s going to be burned, but sure as hell I’m going to”—his feet started to shift—“tell him!”

As he said it, Pyke was spinning on his toes, swinging the lantern hard at Treat, seeing it in the air, then going to his right, but seeing Treat moving, with the revolver suddenly in his hand, and at that moment Treat