"What are you doing back?"
"Somebody hauled in a load of dead Mexicans right after you left," Lew said.
"I didn't think they'd find 'em so quick." Lazair eased into a camp chair, sucking his teeth, and propped his feet on a saddle in front of the chair. "You eaten yet?"
"No."
Lazair nodded back toward the cave entrance. "That girl ain't a bad cook…At least she's good for something."
"The people who found 'em weren't from Soyopa."
Lazair looked up. "Who were they?"
"A couple of Americans."
"Prospectors?"
Lew shrugged. "That's the question nobody knows."
"Well, why didn't you stay to find out?"
"I figured you'd want to know right away."
"You could've left Warren there."
"Between the mescal and that saloon whore he'd find out a hell of a lot."
"What'd they look like?"
"Like anybody else." Lew shrugged. "They weren't carrying signs."
"What!"
Lew reconsidered. "One of them looked army."
"A lot of people were in the army. What does that look like?"
"He had an army pistol holster on him…"
"You're about as much good as Warren."
"What did you want me to do, go up and ask 'em for their cards?"
"There're enough rum-bum rurales you could have asked!"
"How would they know?"
"Because they live in Soyopa and talk to people…those two aren't bringing the bodies into Soyopa 'cause they don't know anybody here! Why didn't they haul them to Rueda or Alaejos? They're just as close."
"Oh…"
"Oh," Lazair mimicked him. He rolled a cigarette then, idly, considering what this could mean.
Lew said, "Maybe we shouldn't of hit that wagon string. There were too many of 'em…all from Soyopa."
Lazair said nothing.
"Now," Lew went on, "people right in the village have got kin and close friends to pray over and wonder about…and maybe they'll wonder so long they'll figure something out."
"How much they hate the Apaches," Lazair said. "That's all the figuring they'll do."
"I don't like it."
"I didn't ask you to like it! You don't get paid for your smiles!"
"Maybe those two Americans'll figure out something…"
"Goddamn it shut up, will you! I can't think with you crying in my ear!"
Two Americans suddenly appear with the bodies. They must have had a reason for coming down here. They stumble onto the ambush and know exactly where to cart the bodies; they knew they were from Soyopa, Lazair thought. Hell, if they knew where they were from, then they knew who they were! Why? Maybe one of the Mexicans had something on him that told what his village was. What are you getting so excited about? Probably a couple of saddle tramps looking for greener grass. Just mustered out of the Army. Maybe they heard about the scalp bounty and thought it was worth a try. You son of a bitch, you've got fourteen men with you and you worry about two. But all of a sudden people were starting to pop out of nowhere. Like the man they ran into just before the ambush who wanted to join the band. Well, the ambush was his test. He came out all right. If he had backed down, he'd have been left with the dead. Sure, he turned out all right. He thought now: And maybe he saw them. He must have come down the same way.
He called over to the cook fire, "Frank!"
The man was a shadowy figure crossing the camp area, taking his time until finally he appeared out of the dimness in front of the fire at the edge of the tarp awning. Frank Rellis had changed little. Dirtier, that was all.
"What?"
"When you were coming down from Contention, did you see anybody?"
"Did I see anybody?"
"Two Americans."
"What the hell kind of a question is that?" Rellis said.
Lazair swung on Lew irritably. "What did they look like!"
"One was a little taller than medium size, thin in the hips and put his boots down hard like a horse soldier. A young fella with red hair. The other one had a mustache, light-colored. He was stringier than the other fella and seemed taller. He looked peaceful enough, but his coat bulged a little like he had a six-gun under it."
Rellis said instantly, "A soldier mustache?"
Lew said, "Yeah, and the other one had an army holster on his side."
"Where are they?"
Lazair looked at Rellis curiously. "You know them?"
"Where are they?"
"Soyopa. They found those dead Mexicans and brought 'em in," Lazair said watching him closely. "I asked you if you knew them."
"I don't know. Maybe I do. One of them sounds like an old friend. Maybe I ought to go to Soyopa and find out for sure." He walked away before Lazair could ask him anything else.
Lazair watched him go back to the cook fire. The hell with it, he thought. Getting anything out of that son of a bitch is like pulling teeth. If it was something to worry about he would have said something. He looked at Lew Embree. "You want a drink?"
"Fine."
Lazair half turned and called behind him, "Honey!" There was no answer and he winked at Lew. "She's bashful."
Lew grinned, rubbing the back of his hand across his mouth. "How is she?"
"I can't even get her to smile."
"They don't have to smile."
"Honey!" Lazair called again. "Bring us out a bottle of something!"
Nita Esteban appeared in the cave opening, in half-shadow, the light of the fire barely reaching her. She held the ends of a red scarf that was about her shoulders tightly in front of her. Her features were small, delicate against the soft blackness of her hair. Her skin was pale in the light of the fire and her eyes were in shadow.
Lazair glanced at her and grinned. "A bottle of mescal, honey."
She disappeared and returned in a moment with the bottle in her hand. She approached Lazair reluctantly, handed the bottle to him and turned quickly, but as she did this he reached for her. She felt his hand on her back and dodged out of reach, twisting her body away from him. But his fingers tightened on the scarf and pulled it from her shoulders as she slipped away.
Lew grinned at his chief. "That's a step toward it."
"She likes to play." Lazair felt the material between his fingers and then tore it down the middle.
Lew said, "Maybe she's upset after seeing what you did to her kin."
Lazair folded a part of the scarf lengthwise, then tied it around his neck, sticking the ends into his shirt. "Some girls are funny that way," he said.
8
"O God, by whose mercy the souls of the faithful find rest, vouchsafe to bless this grave, and appoint Thy holy angel to guard it; and release the souls of all those whose bodies are buried here from every bond of sin, that in Thee they may rejoice with Thy saints forever. Through Christ our Lord."
The Franciscan made the sign of the cross in the air and sprinkled the grave with holy water.
Flynn waited patiently, though within him there was an impatience, while the priest finished his prayer over the last grave. He was anxious to be going, but the Franciscan had moved slowly from grave to grave, reciting the burial prayers reverently, a liturgy unaffected by time. There was no need to hurry.
Flynn's restlessness was not out of irreverence. He whispered his prayers with the priest, but his mind kept wandering to the news the vaquero had brought.
As they were lowering the bodies into the freshly dug graves, the vaquero had ridden in, killing his mount with the urgency of his news. He had seen Apaches! Tending his herd, a dozen miles from Soyopa, he had entered a draw after a stray-and there at the other end, trailing down from high country, were the Apaches. He had flown before they were able to see him, he told. But he had looked back once, and coming out of the draw they had traveled southeast in the direction of the deserted village of Valladolid. How many? Perhaps six or seven.
"Then it is not a raiding party," a man had said.
"Who knows the way of the Apache," the vaquero answered. He perspired, and the wide eyes told that he was still frightened.
"What about your cows?"