“Yes, it was. How did you know?” Gentry asked.
“We got word she was comin’ back home,” Clark said. “This ain’t good. No, sir, this ain’t good at all.”
“Did you know her?” Jane asked.
“Oh, yes, ma’am, I know’d her all right,” Clark replied. “What’s more, I know her papa, Keytano.”
Jane gasped and put her hand to her mouth. “She was the daughter of the chief Keytano?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“She never said a word about that.”
“She wouldn’t,” Falcon said, speaking for the first time. “That’s not her way.”
“You knew her, did you?” Clark asked.
Falcon shook his head. “No. I met her for the first time on the stage. But I know her kind.”
Clark squinted his eyes as he looked at Falcon. “Have we met before, mister?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Falcon said. “I live in Colorado, but this isn’t my first time here.”
“What’s your name?”
“MacCallister. Falcon MacCallister.”
“I knew it!” Clark said, snapping his fingers. “You and Mickey Free cleaned out Naiche and his bunch here a few years ago. That was you, wasn’t it?”
Falcon nodded. “Yes, it was me.”
Clark stuck out his hand. “Well, mister, I’d like to shake your hand.”
Falcon shook his hand.
“Wow!” Timmy said. “I didn’t you was a hero!”
“Hardly a hero,” Falcon said.
“Hah, that ain’t what all the dime novels say,” Clark said. “My boy collects them. He must have half a dozen about you.”
Falcon chuckled. “I can’t be held accountable for what someone writes in one of those dime novels. And from what I’ve been able to determine, there’s very little truth in them.”
“Well, what they wrote about you and the Indians here ’bouts was true,” Clark said. “There ain’t none of us around here that don’t know that story.1 What brings you to Oro Blanco?”
“I bought the Rey de Plata mine.”
“The Rey de Plata. That the mine that belonged to Doc Holliday?”
“Yes. I bought it from him.”
“Oh,” Clark said. “Oh, that’s not good.”
“Not good? You mean the mine is worthless?”
“No, I don’t mean that. Fact is, ever’body thinks that mine is a rich producer. But ... it’s right at the very edge of the Apache land, and it’s too dangerous to work.”
“You’re having Indian trouble again?”
“Some trouble, yes. We had some prospectors killed a couple weeks ago, not more’n a mile from your mine as a matter of fact. And now, what with the chief’s daughter bein’ murdered ’n all, well, it can’t do nothing but get worse.”
Falcon felt a little spasm of pain from the wound on top of his head, and he winced slightly. Noboby but Jane noticed it.
“Mr. Clark, do you have a doctor in Oro Blanco?” Jane asked.
“Yes, ma’am, we have one. That would be Dr. Andrews,” Clark replied. “You needin’ a doctor, ma’am?”
“No, but I think a doctor should look at Mr. MacCallister.”
“Mr. MacCallister?” Clark replied. He looked at Falcon. “Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“He was shot in the head,” Jane said. She reached up to remove Falcon’s hat, showing the blood streak through his wheat-blond hair.
“Holy ...” Clark started to say, then, realizing there was a woman present, checked his language. “I reckon you was at that. Well, sir, the doc’s office is right down the street on top of the hardware store. You can’t miss it. He lives in some rooms behind his office.”
“If you folks will pardon me, I think I’ll find the nearest saloon and have a drink,” Falcon said. He put his hat back on, then nodded toward Jane. “Ma’am,” he said.
Falcon walked away from the coach then, and like Johnson a few moments earlier, disappeared into the darkness.
“He really should have it looked at,” Jane said.
“Like as not, the doc is in the saloon anyway,” Gentry said. “He generally takes his supper in there and visits for
