And that's what Flynn was doing-picturing the south side of Soyopa, where the rurale camp was, where the firing was coming from-it was open country for miles, stretching, curving east and west. So the main threat was not here, even though the firing was coming from that direction now. No, the north side, beyond the cemetery, there it was close with brush, uneven country.
And now, running to the head of the street where most of the others were, Flynn glanced across the square and saw more people coming hurriedly along both sides of the church.
Now it's Soldado's turn-it went through Flynn's mind. Something has stirred him up good.
Past the end of the street, beyond a rise a good two hundred yards off, the bleached tops of the tents were visible. There was smoke and scattered gunfire and suddenly, coming up the rise, up into the street, were the rurales, Santana with them, and as they rode into the square Santana was shouting for them to fan out in a circle, on all sides of the pueblo.
"Sergeant Santana!" Hilario ran close in front of the sergeant's horse as he reined in. "What is it?"
"The Anti-Christ! What do you think!"
"But how did they come?"
"Suddenly…as they always do!"
"Did you lose men?"
"Several," Santana answered, swinging down, breathing hard, watching his men disappear down the streets on all sides of the square. "They struck suddenly, riding almost directly through our camp; then they were gone, leaving some of the tents afire, moving out, away, but seeming to circle to the other side of the pueblo."
Flynn said, "You're going after them?"
"After them! Soldado Viejo is here in force. He would like us to come out after him…so he can cut us to pieces. He is here with men! Something has happened to his thinking. Before he would raid perhaps smaller pueblos, but most of the times herders and then with never more than two dozen men. Now he has over a hundred!"
"See that your men are circling the entire village," Hilario told him, looking about anxiously.
"I know my job!"
Bowers was looking across the square toward the church where more people were entering the square. "You hear them? They're yelling Apache. God, they must be close…"
"That's the side," Flynn said. "They can come up close because of the brush…that's where most of them will be. The strike at the rurale camp was to finish them off quick, but it didn't work."
Hilario's head turned about, wide-eyed. "We should go over there, then."
"What about Duro?" Flynn asked, turning, looking up at him. The lieutenant stood holding tight to the railing, looking, staring across the square.
"Ah, Senor Duro," Hilario said. "I remember his own words once…let me see…" And then he called out, "Duro!" The lieutenant's gaze dropped down to Hilario, surprised, as if he had forgotten they were there. "Duro! Stay in your house until we return. There will be a man here. If he sees your head come out of the door, he will shoot it!"
As they passed the church, many of the people were crowding into its wide doorway which the Franciscan padre stood holding open. Flynn saw him wave to them as they passed and then they were hurrying down the side wall shadow of the church and beyond, deserted now, they could see the cemetery-the rows of wooden crosses and mounds of stones and scattered here and there the remains of the fiesta which would not be finished today: mescal bottles, ollas, plates of pottery and on three or four of the crosses hung sombreros. These moved. As the faint breeze came down from the hills it stirred the wide hat brims, turning them lazily, and this was the only movement now in the deserted cemetery.
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."