“Oh. Well, let me tell you, he’s a real bad one all right. He’s been nothing but trouble ever since he come to this part of the country.”
A short, balding man with a long beard came walking over from the stage depot, which was right next door.
“Sheriff, if all the excitement is over, I’d like to bring the team around now’n get ’em hitched up,” he said.
“Go ahead,” Sheriff Ferrell replied. “There’s no shootin’ now.”
As the short man returned to the depot, the sheriff resumed his conversation with Falcon.
“That was John Scanton. He’s the stage depot manager, about to hook up the team for the seven o’clock stage. Could I buy you a cup of coffee, Mr. MacCallister?”
“Thank you, no,” Falcon replied. He nodded back toward the Railroad Hotel. “I just had breakfast. And as a matter of fact”—he pointed toward the stage, which sat, without a team, in front of the depot—“I’m planning on taking that very stage out of here.”
“Oh, well, then, don’t let me hold you up.” Sheriff Ferrell said. Again, he stuck out his hand. “Thanks a lot for the help this morning. And if you’re ever back in town, I’d like to buy you a drink. Hell, I’ll buy you dinner.”
Falcon chuckled. “I’ll take you up on that, Sheriff,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I should be back through here in a few days. I’m just heading over to Oro Blanco to check on a mine I recently bought.”
“You just bought a mine over at Oro Blanco? Wait a minute, the Rey de Plata mine?”
“Yes, the Silver King. You know it?”
Sheriff Ferrell nodded. “I know it, all right. It belongs to Doc Holliday, or belonged, I guess I should say, seeing as you bought it.”
Suddenly, and unexpectedly, Ferrell snapped his fingers. “Son of a bitch, I know who you are now. You were friends with Doc Holliday and the Earps, weren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You also ran with Mickey Free and cleaned up some of the renegade Indians who were raising hell around here a while back.”
“I did.”
Sheriff Ferrell stuck out his hand. “Well, Mr. MacCallister, I am pleased to meet you. Especially now.”
“Now?”
“Maybe you haven’t heard about Keytano.”
“Keytano? Yes, Keytano, I think I know that name. He’s Naiche’s brother, isn’t he?”
“He’s Naiche’s cousin. He’s also an Apache chief, about the only one left around here now,” Farrell said. “His band owns several thousand acres in between the Cababi and Quigotoa Mountains.”
“Is he giving you trouble?”
“Well, I don’t think it’s Keytano himself. More’n likely it’s just some renegades that’s goin’ out on their own. But whoever it is, they killed three prospectors not long ago. Of course, the prospectors was on Indian land, but the real thing has the Indians all up in arms is the fact that some settlers cut off their supply of water and their cattle are dying.”
“That doesn’t sound very smart, cutting off the water supply for a bunch of warlike Indians. I can’t say that I would blame them,” Falcon said. “Isn’t there anything the government can do to get their water back?”
“The Indian agent has taken it to the territorial governor, asking him to demand that the settlers take down the dam and let the water flow again, but the settlers have gone to court claiming that the water is on their land, to use as they see fit.”
“I see what you mean about trouble brewing,” Falcon said.
“Yes, well, so far, except for some renegades, probably led by a hothead named Chetopa, Keytano has managed to keep most of his people out of trouble. But the whole thing is a tinderbox, and it wouldn’t take much to set off another Indian war down here.”
Falcon shook his head. “I’ve had enough Indian war,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to get involved in another one.”
“Yeah, well, here’s the thing,” Sheriff Ferrell said. “That mine you bought from Doc Holliday? It’s right on the edge of Keytano’s land, so, like it or not, you’re just likely to find yourself right in the middle of it.”
“Mister?” someone called and, looking back, Falcon saw the waiter from the dining room of the Railroad Hotel coming toward him. The waiter was carrying Falcon’s canvas grip.
“Oh, damn, I nearly forgot that. Thanks,” Falcon said, reaching for it.
“My pleasure,” the waiter said. “I, uh, brought the check too.”
Falcon chuckled.
“Oh, yes, I did run out of there in a hurry, didn’t I? Here you go.” He handed the waiter a dollar.
“Breakfast was only fifteen cents, mister, and I didn’t bring no change with me.”
“You keep the change,” Falcon said.
A broad smile spread across the waiter’s face. “Gee, mister, thanks!” he said. “Thanks a lot!”
By now, over at the depot, the team was connected to the coach and the passengers’ luggage was being put into the boot in the back.
