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There was no argument, little discussion, a few grumbling words. The Tonto woman was still Mrs. Isham. Bonnet rode away with his young hands and a new silence came over the yard.

Ruben Vega said, “He believes you’d shoot his horse.” The woman said, “He believes I’d cut steaks, and eat it too. It’s how I’m seen after twelve years of that other life.”

Ruben Vega began to smile. The woman looked at him and in a few moments she began to smile with him. She shook her head then, but continued to smile. He said to her, “You could have a good time if you want to.”

She said, “How, scaring people?”

He said, “If you feel like it.” He said, “Get the present I brought you and open it.”

HE CAME BACK for her the next day in a Concord buggy, wearing his new willow-root straw and a cutaway coat over his revolvers, the coat he’d rented at a funeral parlor. Mrs. Isham wore the pale blue-and- white lace-trimmed dress he’d bought at Weiss’s store, sat primly on the bustle, and held the parasol against the afternoon sun all the way to Benson, ten miles, and up the main street to the Charles Crooker Hotel where the drummers and cattlemen and railroad men sitting in their front-porch rockers stared and stared.

They walked past the manager and into the dining room before Ruben Vega removed his hat and pointed to the table he liked, one against the wall between two windows. The waitress in her starched uniform was wide-eyed taking them over and getting them seated. It was early and the dining room was not half filled.

“The place for a quiet dinner,” Ruben Vega said. “You see how quiet it is?”

“Everybody’s looking at me,” Sarah Isham said to the menu in front of her.

Ruben Vega said, “I thought they were looking at me. All right, soon they’ll be used to it.”

She glanced up and said, “People are leaving.”

He said, “That’s what you do when you finish eating, you leave.”

She looked at him, staring, and said, “Who are you?”

“I told you.”

“Only your name.”

“You want me to tell you the truth, why I came here?”

“Please.”

“To steal some of your husband’s cattle.”

She began to smile and he smiled. She began to laugh and he laughed, looking openly at the people looking at them, but not bothered by them. Of course they’d look. How could they help it? A Mexican rider and a woman with blue stripes on her face sitting at a table in the hotel dining room, laughing. He said, “Do you like fish? I know your Indian brothers didn’t serve you none. It’s against their religion. Some things are for religion, as you know, and some things are against it. We spend all our lives learning customs. Then they change them. I’ll tell you something else if you promise not to be angry or point your pistol at me. Something else I could do the rest of my life. I could look at you and touch you and love you.”

Her hand moved across the linen tablecloth to his with the cracked, yellowed nails and took hold of it, clutched it.

She said, “You’re going to leave.”

He said, “When it’s time.”

She said, “I know you. I don’t know anyone else.”

He said, “You’re the loveliest woman I’ve ever met. And the strongest. Are you ready? I think the man coming now is your husband.”

It seemed strange to Ruben Vega that the man stood looking at him and not at his wife. The man seemed not too old for her, as he had expected, but too self-important. A man with a very serious demeanor, as though his business had failed or someone in his family had passed away. The man’s wife was still clutching the hand with the gnarled fingers. Maybe that was it. Ruben Vega was going to lift her hand from his, but then thought, Why? He said as pleasantly as he was able, “Yes, can I help you?”

Mr. Isham said, “You have one minute to mount up and ride out of town.”

“Why don’t you sit down,” Ruben Vega said, “have a glass of wine with us?” He paused and said, “I’ll introduce you to your wife.”

Sarah Isham laughed; not loud but with a warmth to it and Ruben Vega had to look at her and smile. It seemed all right to release her hand now. As he did he said, “Do you know this