That failure would lead to Jardine’s success, though. Once the Navajo were cleaned out of the territory like the vermin they were, the way would be clear for a man with guts and brains to seize power ... a man like him, Jardine thought with a self-congratulatory smile as he took a cigar from his shirt pocket and clamped it between his teeth.
“How will we know when the Indians are here, boss?” Snyder asked from his horse as he brought the animal alongside the wagon.
“They should be here already,” Jardine said. He turned halfway around on the seat and reached behind him into the wagon bed. Finding the lantern that was sitting there, he lifted it and set it on the seat beside him.
Then he snapped a lucifer to life with his thumbnail, lit the lantern, and held the flame to the tip of the cigar, puffing until it was burning, too. He stood up, held the lantern out at the end of his arm, and swung it back and forth three times.
“That’s the signal, eh?” Snyder asked.
“Shut up and be ready for trouble,” Jardine said as he set the lantern on the wagon seat again. “There shouldn’t be any, but I don’t trust those damned redskins.”
Jardine left the lantern burning. He picked up his own rifle and sat with it across his lap. An air of tension gripped him, and he knew it extended to his men as well.
The Navajo weren’t paying anything for the rifles, although Juan Pablo had promised payment later on, once they had run out all the whites.
Jardine fully expected Juan Pablo to try to double-cross him on that angle, although Juan Pablo had no idea that Jardine didn’t really care.
But the Indians might try to get fancy and kill the men who had delivered the rifles to them. It was unlikely, but it could happen.
If it did, the Navajo would learn quickly that half a dozen tough men armed with Winchester repeaters were more than a match for a motley bunch of savages armed with bows, arrows, and a few ancient single-shot rifles.
If it became necessary, Jardine would wipe out Juan Pablo and the men he brought with him, then start over and arrange a deal with some other power-hungry redskin. The delay in his plans that would cause would be mighty annoying, but unavoidable.
Jardine suddenly sat up straighter as he heard hoofbeats. Somebody was coming, and it had to be Juan Pablo. Who else would be out here in this isolated spot at such a wee hour of the morning?
Jardine heard a few muttered curses as his men gripped their rifles tighter and waited for the newcomers to arrive. As the hoofbeats thudded to a stop, Jardine stood up and lifted the lantern again so that its glow spread out on the arid, rocky landscape around the wagon.
He knew he was making a target out of himself, almost daring somebody to shoot at him, but at the moment he didn’t care. He felt invulnerable, as if no one would ever dare to challenge him.
Soon enough, that would be the truth.
The lantern light revealed the glaring, hawk-like face of Juan Pablo, who was accompanied by five other Navajo warriors. Juan Pablo edged his pony ahead of the others and demanded, “You have the rifles?”
“Would we be here if he didn’t?” Jardine shot back. He set the lantern on the wagon seat and waved his free hand toward the crates. “Here they are.”
“Open the boxes. I would look at them.”
Jardine smiled.
“You don’t trust me, amigo?”
“I would look at them,” Juan Pablo said again.
“All right, fine.” Jardine turned to Snyder and Hilliard. “Pry the lid off one of those crates.” He look at Juan Pablo again. “But only one. We’re not going to sit out here the rest of the night prying lids off and nailing them back on.”
Juan Pablo’s scowl didn’t lessen any, but he gave a curt nod of agreement.
When Snyder and Hilliard had one of the crates open, the Navajo moved his pony nearer the wagon and leaned over so he could look into the bed. The rifles were wrapped in oilcloth.
“Show me,” Juan Pablo snapped.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Jardine muttered. “Dave, get one of the guns out.”
Snyder unwrapped one of the Springfields and used a rag to wipe the packing grease off it.
Juan Pablo held his hands out.
Snyder glanced at Jardine, who nodded. He handed the rifle to Juan Pablo, who snatched it and held it close to study it. The Navajo weighed the weapon in his hands, then opened the loading mechanism in the breech that gave the rifle its “Trapdoor” designation.
“Bullets?”
“Ten thousand rounds in those boxes,” Jardine explained, pointing to the smaller boxes that contained the ammunition.
Juan Pablo shook his head.
“Not enough to fight a long war.”
