17

Bowen drew the Colt from his belt, pressing himself against the wall next to the window. He looked across the room seeing Karla and her father in the kitchen, then waited until Demery turned from her and started into the front room.

“He’s here,” Bowen said. He nodded toward Falvey, saw Falvey turn from the bar as Demery started for him, then Bowen’s gaze returned to the window.

Renda came at a walk, moving easily with the motion of the big chestnut. The shotgun was across his lap and his eyes remained on the adobe as he approached.

Behind him, Bowen heard Falvey’s voice. A protest. Then steps going into the kitchen. Bowen moved three steps along the wall to the next window as Renda drew closer. He watched Renda come to a stop five or six yards out from the door. Now he’ll call, Bowen thought.

But there was no call. Renda waited, apparently listening, then reined the chestnut to the left and started along the front of the open shed.

Bowen pressed close to the window, then came away from it suddenly. He saw Karla in the kitchen doorway, motioned to her and moved quietly to meet her. “He’s going around back. Get Willis’s horse out of sight-quick!”

He stepped to the window again, saw Renda nearing the end of the shed, made sure he was turning the corner, then hurried to the kitchen. Karla was already outside. Demery, standing behind Falvey who was seated at the table, raised his eyes inquiringly.

“He’s coming around,” Bowen said.

“What’s Karla doing?”

“She’s all right.”

Bowen moved to the wooden sink and pressed against the drainboard to look out the window. He saw Karla holding the dun close to the bit, her left hand on its nose, leading it along the stable shed that extended out from the house and almost to the corral. She reached the end of the shed and rounded it a moment before Renda came into the yard.

As Renda looked toward the house, Bowen stepped away from the window. Then, hearing the horse’s hoofs again, he moved along the wall to the door and looked out, edging past the side frame.

The chestnut was broadside to him, facing the shed, ten yards out and directly in line with the door. Renda sat motionless, half turned from Bowen and staring off toward the end of the shed. His right hand was on the shotgun and he seemed to be listening.

He’d have to come around to use it, Bowen thought. Or turn it over and shoot left-handed.

Bowen eased open the screen door and stepped outside. Instantly the sunlight struck him and he wanted to pull his hat brim closer to his eyes, but he hesitated with the thought of his hand momentarily in front of his face. Without thinking the word fear he realized it was fear that made him hesitate, and now, deliberately, he pulled the straw brim straight over his eyes, telling himself to relax and get hold of himself, before he brought up the Colt, cocking it as he did.

“Frank-”

Renda’s body twisted in the saddle. Seeing Bowen, his face showed surprise, but it was momentary and only in his eyes. He stared at Bowen intently, saying nothing, and Bowen could almost read what was passing through his mind.

“Don’t even think about it,” Bowen warned. “You wouldn’t get it halfway around.”

Renda seemed to relax. “You’ll never learn, will you? Put the gun down and tell Earl to come out.”

“Earl’s not in this.”

“He’s already gone?”

Bowen shook his head. “But he’s out of it. This is just between you and me.”

“Listen, you’re in enough trouble. Put the gun down.” Renda waited. The Colt remained leveled at him. “Corey, you’re going to strain yourself standing like that.” Renda’s left heel nudged the chestnut and its forelegs side-stepped toward the porch.

“Hold it!”

Renda was almost facing Bowen now. He smiled, saying, “You got poor nerves, Corey.”

“Let the shotgun drop and they’ll be all right.”

“What if it went off?”

“So will this if it does.”

“You won’t get more than a mile,” Renda said. “You know that. The Mimbres’ll be all over you.”

“Are you sure?”

Renda shrugged. “You ought to know it better than I do.”

“Let go of the shotgun, Frank.”

“If I don’t what’ll you do, shoot me?”

“I might have to.”

“Use your head. You got, what-six years to serve. You’d trade that for a rope?”

Bowen hesitated. Something was forming in his mind, but he was not yet sure if it could be developed. He said then, “What would you trade to stay alive?”

“I don’t see where I have to trade anything.”

Now, Bowen thought. “What about the letter you came for?”

Renda grinned. “Little Karla’s been telling you things.”

“Look at it this way,” Bowen said. “Would you give your life to try to get the letter?”

For a moment Renda was silent and he nodded thoughtfully. “I’ve been figuring you all wrong, haven’t I?”

“You see what it comes to?” Bowen said carefully.

Renda shrugged. “But I’m not even sure Karla’s got the letter.”

“You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.”

“The thing is,” Renda said slowly. “I don’t see you come out smelling any better than you went in. What do you get out of it?”

“I get what you trade for the letter.”

“So we’re making a deal.” Renda grinned. “I must be a little slow this morning.”

Bowen nodded. “But now everything’s clear.”

“Where’s the letter now?”

Bowen’s hand touched his pocket. “Right here.”

“Let’s see it.”

Bowen’s eyes remained on Renda as his hand went to his pocket and brought out the envelope Demery had given him. He glanced at it and saw it was addressed to Demery. “Frank, it says: to the District Supervisor, Bureau of”-Bowen looked up. “I can’t read all of Lizann’s writing.” Then, glancing at the envelope again, “Department of the Interior, Prescott, Arizona Territory…That mean anything to you?”

“I don’t know if it does,” Renda answered. “I haven’t read it. Have you?”

“I don’t have to-I’ve been living with you.”

Renda leaned forward. “Let’s see it.”

“Not till we talk about a swap.”

Renda was silent. “How about this?” he said then. “You give me the letter and I give you a ten-minute start. Take a horse and keep your gun.”

Bowen smiled faintly. “You believe in starting low.”

“You want a half hour?”

Get somewhere, Bowen thought, but said, still not sure where this would lead, “What about the Mimbres?”

“That’s your problem.”

Bowen shook his head. “They’re yours now.”

“All right…I’ll call them off.”

“How?”

“Ride ahead-tell them to let you through.”

“Even if I trusted you, I wouldn’t go for that.”

“You’re hard to please.” Renda paused, then said, “Here’s another way. You come back to the camp and we’ll fix it for you to slip out at night. You’d have about a six-hour start.”

“You’re bidding low again,” Bowen said. “The more I think about it, the more it looks like I’m only safe if I stay close to you. Even if I did get away I’d be hiding out the rest of my life…while you’re making all that money on the road.” He spoke slowly, thinking ahead of what he was saying and suddenly, there it was: a way to bring Falvey into it. A natural, part-of-the-conversation way that would arouse neither Renda’s suspicion nor Falvey’s-if he was listening. And Bowen thought, wanting to look around at the adobe but making himself keep his eyes on Renda: Willis, be listening!

He said then, “What I need, Frank, is a deal something like Willis Falvey’s. We’d each have something on the other, and we’d get along fine.”

Renda studied Bowen in silence.

“Fix me a deal like that, Frank. I get so much of your profits for not mailing the letter.”

“Somebody’s been talking to you,” Renda said quietly.

“Maybe it was Willis,” Bowen said. “Maybe he’s getting tired.”