Beyond, scattered mesquite thickets began their creeping in from the wild country and beyond the brush were pinon and scrub oak, then jackpine as the ground rose to deep-green and brown-green hills and over all of this nothing moved.
He's smart, Flynn thought, thinking of Soldado. If a white man had the upper hand he'd stand out there showing himself, defying you to come out. Soldado's smart. He makes you think he's gone, and when you go out…then he has you.
They stood in the backyard of the adobe which was across the road from the church, looking out over a low wall. Bowers' eyes were half closed as his head swung slowly, squinting into the brush shadows, seeing nothing. "They're gone," he said finally.
Hilario shook his head, disagreeing. "Why should they go?"
Bowers said, "Dave, what do you think?"
"I think Hilario answered it," Flynn replied. "Why should they go?"
"You don't see them!"
"When did you ever?" Flynn spoke quietly, staring out at the thickets. "Something has aroused Soldado…" He hesitated. "Maybe Lazair stumbled onto his rancheria while the men were away…whatever the reason, it must be a good one to make him throw his men at an entire village. He attacked when he was hot, and it wasn't successful, but now he's cooled off. Whatever he came for, he must still want, because he didn't get anything. There's no one here who's going to go out after him, so there's no reason for him to leave. He has all the time in the world…good cover…and he's Apache. Now you tell me what he'll do."
Bowers said, after a silence, "And what are we going to do?"
"Wait."
"For how long?"
"That's up to Soldado," Flynn said. "Probably nothing will happen tonight, but in the morning something might." Bowers looked at him curiously and he added, "That rider of Lazair's that Santana chased out of town…he's on his way to their camp now, if Soldado didn't spot him. By morning he should be rushing back here with the rest of them, yelling for rurales, but they'll find Apaches instead."
Bowers' face brightened. "Then that's our chance!"
Flynn shook his head. "Soldado will know about them before they know about him."
They separated soon after this, stringing out in the backyards of the adobes, watching the brush and the trees and the shadows that crept toward them as the sun began to fade. Then there were the evening sounds which seemed quieter than day sounds, and the smell of wood fires. Mesquite burning. Bowers was in the next yard, a hundred feet from Flynn, Hilario was beyond him, in his own yard. And now it was getting dark quickly.
There was Nita, coming out of the back door, moving across the yard toward her father. She was carrying something and Flynn thought: Probably atole. We eat and Soldado eats, but that's all we have in common with him. He watched Nita go to Bowers next and as she came closer he could see her face more clearly. Then she was approaching him with the atole-the flour gruel-carrying it in a tin pot, her other hand carrying pottery bowls, and he felt an excitement inside of him. And telling himself it was silly, repeating it quickly as she drew closer, did not make it go away.
"Are you hungry?"
He shook his head. "No. But it would be best to eat something."
"There was not time to prepare anything better than this." She kept her eyes down most of the time, but when she did look at Flynn, when their eyes met, they would hold and there was no other living soul on the earth.
"I don't mind atole, I've had it many times before."
He said, unexpectedly then, "If it were darker, I think I would kiss you."
Her eyes rose to his. "If it were darker, I think I would let you." They looked at each other in silence, then she rose and moved toward the next yard with the pot of atole.
Later, after it had been dark almost an hour, a man came to him. It was Ramon who had been in Hilario's house with the others.
"We think they are approaching."
"Where?"
"Directly out from my yard"-he waved his arm in the darkness-"which is the other side of Hilario's. Before it was dark we saw this Apache who seemed to be showing himself purposely, making strange signs, as if tempting us to come out. Then for a while he was gone. Then, after the darkness came, we heard faint sounds. They have stopped now, but you'd better come."
Hilario and Bowers were there, crouched behind the low stone wall.
Ramon asked in a whisper that was nervously harsh, "Has anything occurred?"
Bowers nodded to them. Hilario looked up and said quickly, "He is close now, but out of sight. A moment ago there was a sound, it seemed a hiss, but I'm sure it was a word."
Flynn said, "Si-kisn?"
"Yes, that was it!" Hilario whispered excitedly.
"He was telling you," Flynn said, "that he's a brother, a friend."
"It is a ruse," Hilario whispered.
"Perhaps," Flynn said. "But when an Apache fights at night, it is because he has no other choice. Soldado has time. He has more of it than we have."
Bowers said, "And maybe he's planning on your thinking that way."
He's learning fast, Flynn thought, and said, "You never know them so well you don't have to take chances." He knelt close to the wall now and cupping his hands to his mouth he called in a low, drawn-out hiss, "Si-kisnnnn."
There was dead silence. Then the word came back from not far away. Again silence, and suddenly the dim shape of an Apache was standing across the wall from them. He said, "Flin?"
Flynn rose, and hesitated so there would be no surprise in his voice that would make him speak out loud. Then he said, "Three-cents." He glanced at Bowers and at Hilario. "This is Three-cents, Joe Madora's head Coyotero tracker."
Bowers said, "What!" and clamped his mouth shut because the word was sharp in the stillness.
"Come over," Flynn said to the Coyotero.
"There is another with me," Three-cents said in Spanish, and almost as he said it, he was gone.
"I thought they made army trackers wash," Bowers whispered. "He's filthy."
"The dirt's on purpose," Flynn said. "He wiped saliva on his body and then sand on top of that. That's why we didn't see him."
A moment later, Three-cents was back and behind him another figure was coming, crouched low. Then he rose, and as he spoke, even before he spoke, Flynn was smiling.
The words came as a hoarse whisper-"David, you son of a bitch, I've got to pull you out of another one."
"Joe!" Flynn whispered, and grabbed the man's arm to help him over the wall.
"Let go! You'll rip open the hole!"
"How is it?"
"I'm standing in front of you."
"I never expected to see you again, Joe."
"That's why I can't figure they sent a shortsighted bastard like you on this trip." Madora looked at Bowers then. "How you doin', Red?"
Self-consciously, Bowers said, "All right."
Madora turned from him abruptly. "David, I'm hungrier 'n a bastard. What've you got?"
Hilario said, "Nita will bring something."
But Flynn said, "We'll go in and get it. Joe, you and your boy come along and I'll fix you up."
When they were near the house, Madora said, "Those boys were dyin' for news. They won't take kindly to you rushin' me away."
Flynn ignored this, saying quickly, "Where's Deneen?"
"He's out there."
Flynn relaxed somewhat. "I had a hunch he was. With how many?"
"Counting Coyoteros?"
Flynn nodded. "Yes."
"Ten."
"Ten! How many are scouts?"
"Ten."
"No…" Flynn groaned, but there was a humor to this and it struck Flynn and he could not help but smile now. "All right. What happened?"