Now, coming over a low rise, he could see the glow of their fires, three of them, where the swing station would be in the darkness. Gradually then, as he approached, he could make out the adobe building, the fires reflecting on pale walls in the night. The front of the building, beneath the mesquite-pole ramada, was in deep shadow. Closer now and he could see the low adobe outer wall across the front yard, shielding the well and the horse corral from open country.
Valdez listened as he approached. He could hear the men by the fire, the thin sound of voices coming across the yard. He could hear horses moving in the corral and a shrill whinnying sound. He was aware of horses closer to him, off in the darkness, but moving in with the heavy muffled sound of hooves on the packed sand. He did not look toward the sound but continued on, coming to the wall and walking his horse through the open gate, feeling the riders out of the darkness close behind him as he entered the yard.
A figure by the wall with a rifle said, “Hold it there,” and a voice behind him, in English also but with an accent said, “We have him.” The man with the rifle came toward him, raising the barrel of a Henry or a Winchester – Valdez wasn’t sure in the dimness.
He said in Spanish, “I have no gun.”
And the voice behind him said, also in Spanish, “Get down and show us.”
Valdez swung down. He dropped the reins and opened his coat as the man with the rifle, a Winchester, came up to him.
“The saddle,” the voice behind him said in English.
Not looking around Valdez said, “You make sure, don’t you?” The man behind him didn’t answer. He walked his horse forward and dismounted close to Valdez, looking into his face.
“You go where?”
“Here,” Valdez said. “To speak to Senor Tanner.”
“About what?”
“Money,” Valdez said.
The man who had dismounted continued to study him for a moment. He handed his reins to the one with the rifle and walked off toward the adobe. Valdez watched him and saw the men by the fires, on the side of the adobe, looking out toward him. It was quiet now except for the stirring of the horses in the corral. He saw the light in the doorway as the man went inside. The door remained open, but he could see nothing within.
There was a bar inside the room and two long tables. The station man, Gregorio Sanza, would be behind the bar maybe, serving Tanner. He remembered Tanner did not take anything to drink at the pasture.
He said to the one with the rifle, “The company I work for owns that building. The Hatch and Hodges.”
The man said nothing. Beyond him now two figures appeared in the doorway, in the light for a moment and out of it into darkness. Not Tanner, neither of them. The one who had gone inside called out, “Bring him over.” The two men in shadow came out a few steps and the second one, also with an accent, said, “Against the wall,” motioning with a nod of his head to the side.
Some of the men by the fires had stood up or were rising as Valdez walked toward them. Others sat and lounged on their sides – dark faces, dark leather, firelight reflecting on cartridge belts and mess tins – and Valdez had to walk around them to reach the wall. As he turned, the man who had come out of the house walked over to stand across the fire from him, the men standing or sitting there quickly making room for him.
The segundo, Valdez thought. They move.
He was a big man, almost as big as Diego Luz, with a straw Sonora hat and a heavy moustache that gave him a solemn expression and a strip of beard beneath his mouth. The segundo, with one cartridge bandolier and two long-barreled.44s on his legs.
Valdez nodded to him and said in Spanish, “Good evening,” almost smiling.
“I don’t know you,” the segundo said.
“Because we have never met.”
“I know everyone who does business with Senor Tanner.”
“I have no business with him. A private matter.”
“You told them business.”
“I told them money.”
The segundo was silent, watching him. “He doesn’t know you,” he said then.
“Senor Tanner? Sure, I met him today. I killed a man for him.”
The segundo hesitated again, undecided or taking his own time, watching him. He motioned with his hand then, and the Mexican who had gone into the house before moved away, turning the corner. The segundo continued to stare. Valdez shifted his gaze to the left and to the right and saw all of them watching him in the light of the fires. There were Americans and Mexicans, some of them bearded, most of them with their hats on, all of them armed. He counted, looking about idly, and decided there were at least twelve of them here. More of them out in the darkness.
He said in his mind, Mr. Tanner, do you remember me? Bob-
Tanner came around the corner. He took a stub of cigar out of his mouth and stood looking at Valdez.
Now. “Mr. Tanner, do you remember me? Bob Valdez, from the pasture today.”
Tanner held the cigar in front of him. He was in his shirtsleeves and vest and without the dark hat that had hidden his eyes, his hair slanting down across his forehead, the skin pale-looking in the firelight. He seemed thinner now and smaller, but his expression was the same, the tell-nothing expression and the mouth that looked as if it had never smiled.
“What do you want?”
“I just wanted to talk to you for a minute.”
“Say it.”
“Well, it’s about the man today.”
“What man?”
“The one that was killed. You know he had a wife with him.” Valdez waited.
“Say what you want and get out of here.”
“Well, we were talking – Mr. Beaudry and Mr. Malson. You know who I mean?”
“You don’t have much time left,” Mr. Tanner said.
“We were saying maybe we should give something to the woman now that she doesn’t have a husband.”
“They sent you out here?”
“No, I thought of it. I thought if we all put in to give her some money” – he hesitated – “about five hundred dollars.”
Mr. Tanner had not moved his gaze from Valdez. “You come out here to tell me that?”
“Well, we were talking about it and Mr. Beaudry said why don’t I see you about it.”
“You want me to pay money,” Mr. Tanner said, “to that red nigger he was holed up with?”
“You said it wasn’t the right man-”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“It was an accident, not the woman’s fault, and she doesn’t have anything now. And she’s got that child she’s going to have. Did you see that?”
Mr. Tanner looked at his segundo. He said, “Get rid of him,” and started to turn away.
“Wait a minute!”
Valdez watched him half turn to look at him again.
“What did you say?”
“I mean if you could take time to listen a minute so I can explain it.” The hard-working, respectful Bob Valdez speaking again, smiling a little.
“Your minute’s up, boy.” He glanced at his segundo again. “Teach him something.” He turned and was gone.
Valdez called out, “Mr. Tanner-”
“He don’t hear you so good,” the segundo said. “It’s too loud out here.” He drew the.44 on his right leg, cocked it and fired as he brought it up, and with the explosion the adobe chipped next to Bob Valdez’s face.
“All this shooting,” the segundo said. “Man, he can’t hear anything.” He fired again and the adobe chipped close to the other side of Valdez’s face. “You see how easy it would be?” the segundo said.
The Mexican rider who had brought him in said, “Let me have one,” his revolver already drawn. “Where do you want it?”
“By the right hand,” the segundo said.
Valdez was looking at the Mexican rider. He saw the revolver lift as the man pulled the trigger and saw the muzzle flash with the heavy solid noise and heard the bullet strike close to his side.
“Too high,” the segundo said.
Now those who were sitting and lounging by the fires rose and drew their revolvers, looking at the segundo and waiting their turn. One of them, an American, said, “I know where I’m going to shoot the son of a bitch.” One of them laughed and another one said, “See if you can shoot his meat off.” And another one said, “It would fix this squaw-lover good.”