The Complete Western Stories of Elmore Leonard - Elmore Leonard [232]
So he’s alive, Bob Valdez thought. And he wants to stay alive and he’s not giving himself up.
He thought about the woman’s nerve and whether Orlando Rincon had sent her out or she had decided this herself. You couldn’t tell about an Indian woman. Maybe this was expected of her. The woman didn’t count; the man did. You could lose the woman and get another one.
Mr. Tanner didn’t look at R. L. Davis. His gaze held on the Lipan Apache woman, inched along with her toward the hut; but must have known R. L. Davis was right next to him.
“She’s saying she don’t give a goddamn about you and your rifle,” Mr. Tanner said.
R. L. Davis looked at him funny. Then he said, “Shoot her?” Like he hoped that’s what Mr. Tanner meant.
“Well, you could make her jump some,” Mr. Tanner said.
Now R. L. Davis was onstage and he knew it and Bob Valdez could tell he knew it by the way he levered the Winchester, raised it, and fired all in one motion, and as the dust kicked behind the Indian woman, who kept walking and didn’t look up, R. L. Davis fired and fired and fired as fast as he could lever and half aim and with everybody watching him, hurrying him, he put four good ones right behind the woman. His last bullet socked into the door just as she reached it and now she did pause and look up at the slope, staring up like she was waiting for him to fire again and giving him a good target if he wanted it.
Mr. Malsom laughed out loud. “She still don’t give a goddamn about your rifle.”
It stung R. L. Davis, which it was intended to do. “I wasn’t aiming at her!”
“But she doesn’t know that.” Mr. Malsom was grinning, turning then and reaching out a hand as Diego Luz approached them with the whiskey.
“Hell, I wanted to hit her she’d be laying there, you know it.”
“Well, now, you go tell her that,” Mr. Malsom said, working the cork loose, “and she’ll know it.” He took a drink from the bottle and passed it to Mr. Beaudry, who drank and handed the bottle to Mr. Tanner. Mr. Tanner did not drink; he passed the bottle to R. L. Davis, who was standing, staring at Mr. Malsom. Finally R. L. Davis jerked the bottle up, took a long swallow, and that part was over.
Mr. Malsom said to Mr. Tanner, “You don’t want any?”
“Not today,” Mr. Tanner answered. He continued to stare out across the pasture.
Mr. Malsom watched him. “You feel strongly about this army deserter.”
“I told you,” Mr. Tanner said, “he killed a man was a friend of mine.”
“No, I don’t believe you did.”
“James C. Baxter of Fort Huachuca,” Mr. Tanner said. “He come across a tulapai still this nigger soldier was working with some Indians. The nigger thought Baxter would tell the army people, so he shot him and ran off with a woman.”
“And you saw him this morning.”
“I had come in last night and stopped off, going to Tucson,” Mr. Tanner said. “This morning I was getting ready to leave when I saw him; him and the woman.”
“I was right there,” R.L. Davis said. “Right, Mr. Tanner? Him and I were on the porch by the Republic and Rincon goes by in the wagon. Mr. Tanner said, ‘You know that man?’ I said, ‘Only that he’s lived up north of town a few months. Him and the woman.’ ‘Well, I know him,’ Mr. Tanner said. ‘That man’s an army deserter wanted for murder.’ I said, ‘Well, let’s go get him.’ He had a start on us and that’s how he got to the hut before we could grab on to him. He’s been holed up ever since.”
Mr. Malsom said, “Then you didn’t talk to him.”
“Listen,” Mr. Tanner said, “I’ve kept that man’s face before my eyes this past year.”
Bob Valdez, somewhat behind Mr. Tanner and to the side, moved in a little closer. “You know this is the same man, uh?”
Mr. Tanner looked around. He stared at Valdez. That’s all he did—just stared.
“I mean, we have to be sure,” Bob Valdez said. “It’s a serious thing.”
Now Mr. Malsom and Mr. Beaudry were looking up at him. “We,” Mr. Beaudry said. “I’ll tell you what,