don’t make no sense.”
“They ain’t by themselves,” Philbin said. “Not really. Whenever they come out to trade like that, they never actually go into town. If you was to ask me, I would say that the men that was with them have prob’ly rode on into town to get it all set up.”
“Burt is right,” Meechum said. “And you know what that means, don’t you?”
“I don’t know,” Cantrell answered. “I reckon it means the men is in town.”
“Yes, and that also means there ain’t nobody watchin’ over their trade goods but them two squaws and the young’ins,” Meechum said.
“So, what does that have to do with us? What do they have that we would want to trade for anyway?” Cantrell asked.
“Could be they got some of that turquoise and silver jewelry. Them Indians is just real good makin’ them things. And it’s right down there just waitin’ for us,” Meechum said, pointing to the Indian women and children.
“What’s that got to do with us? What do we want with a bunch of Injun jewelry anyway?”
“You don’t never think, do you, Cantrell?” Meechum said. “We can sell it.”
“We ain’t got nothing to trade for it.”
“We ain’t goin’ to trade. We’re just goin’ to go down there and get it,” Meechum said.
“Go get it?” Cantrell replied. “Meechum, it ain’t very damn likely they are goin’ to just give it to us.”
Meechum chuckled. “Hell, I didn’t say we was goin’ to go down there an’ ask for it. I said we was goin’ to take it. Their men are gone. How much trouble can a couple of squaws and a few snot-nosed kids be?”
“Yeah,” Cantrell said. “Yeah, I reckon I see what you are talkin’ about now. We can sell it, you say?”
“Yeah, we can sell it. We need to go someplace away from here like, say, Phoenix or some such place, but we’re headed that way anyway. Once we get there, we can sell the jewelry for fifty, maybe as much as a hundred dollars. I’d kind of like to have a little money in my pocket when we talk to Willis, wouldn’t you?”
“Yeah, I would,” Cantrell agreed.
“Come on, boys,” Meechum said, mounting his horse. “This is goin’ to be the easiest money we ever made.”
“Sagozhuni, white men are coming to trade,” Chandeisi’s wife, Natanh, said. “I do not understand why they would come before our husbands return.”
Sagozhuni looked toward the four men who were riding in single file down the slope of the hill.
“Natanh, hide the jewelry,” Sagozhuni said quickly. “I do not think they are traders.”
Natanh laid a blanket over the turquoise and silver.
“Hello, ladies,” the man who rode in front said. He touched the brim of his hat. “Have you got something to trade?”
“These baskets,” Sagozhuni said, holding up one of the baskets that had the most intricate design.
“Baskets? Is that all? I was thinking more along the lines of turquoise and silver.”
“We have baskets,” Sagozhuni said. “They are very beautiful. Your wife will like them.”
“My wife?” the rider said. He laughed. “Did you hear that, boys?” he said to the others. “Our wives will like the baskets.”
The other riders laughed as well, but rather than easing her fears, their laughter frightened Sagozhuni even more.
The rider in front quit laughing and a snarl crossed his face. “Don’t lie to me now, you redskin bitch. Give us all your jewelry and we’ll just ride away and leave you alone. Otherwise, we’ll have a little fun with you two women, then take the jewelry anyway.”
“Aiyeee!” Natanh yelled, rushing toward one of the men, brandishing a knife.
“Natanh, no!” Sagozhuni shouted.
Sagozhuni’s shouted warning was too late. Natanh slashed out with her knife and brought blood from the leg of one of the riders.
“You crazy bitch!” the wounded rider shouted. Jerking on the reins of his horse, he managed to pull away from her before she could make a second swipe at him.
Natanh’s attack was answered with a flurry of gunshots, and Natanh went down. With a shout of anger, Sagozhuni grabbed Natanh’s knife, but before she could get to any of the men, she was shot down by a second volley.
“Son of a bitch!” Meechum said angrily. “What the hell did they do that for?”
The children began crying.
“What about the damn brats?” Philbin asked.
Meechum shook his head. “We got no choice,” he said. “Shoot the little bastards.” He shot one of the children and the others, following his lead, began shooting as well. For several seconds, the valley echoed and reechoed with the sound of gunshots. Finally, with the air stinking of spent gunpowder and the last echo dying away, the four men, who had not even dismounted, sat their saddles, looking on, shocked at their own actions.
“Son of a bitch, Meechum, did we have to do this?” Oliver asked.
