“It was on the Picket Post Road,” Dewey answered. “Me ’n’ Mr. Malcolm, we was bringin’ a load a saltpeter to the Maricopa Chemical Company when the Apaches attacked us.”
“Saltpeter?” Keith asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Damn, that isn’t good,” Keith said. “You put saltpeter with sulphur and charcoal and you can make gunpowder.”
“I doubt the Injuns have enough sense to know how to use it,” Williams said.
“Don’t be selling the Indians short, Bob. I’ve known some that were very intelligent,” Keith said.
“What’s your name, boy?”
“Dewey Calhoun.”
“How’d you get away, Dewey?”
“Mr. Malcolm, he seen the Apaches before they attacked and he give me the canteen and told me to run. That’s what I done, and that’s how come I’m here.”
“How do you know Pete is dead?” Keith asked from behind the bars. “Did you see the Indians kill him?”
“No sir, I didn’t actual see it, but I heered it.”
“What do you mean you heard it?” Williams asked.
“I heered Mr. Malcolm’s shotgun go off—then I heered a lot more shots after that.”
Sheriff Williams stroked his chin and nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I’d say that’s a pretty good sign he was killed all right.” Williams walked over to take his hat off a hook. He also took down the ring of keys, then came back to open the door to Keith’s cell.
“You aren’t supposed to be let out till after lunch,” the sheriff said. “But I may not be back by then, so I’m lettin’ you out now. And next time you have to take a pee, for heaven’s sake, Keith, go out into the alley or some such place.”
“I always do—when I’m sober,” Keith said. “And I thank you for your kindness in letting me out half an hour early.”
“Yeah, well, it also saves the county the money for buyin’ your lunch,” Sheriff Williams said. “Dewey, come with me, we’ll go find Marshal Gilmore. This is more his jurisdiction than it is mine.”
“Could I get me a drink of water first?” Dewey asked. “I drunk up all the canteen while I was walkin’ here.”
“Sure you can, boy,” Sheriff Williams said. “There’s a bucket and dipper back there against the wall.”
Dewey hurried back to the water bucket and scooped out a dipper full. Turning it up to his lips, he drank deeply, letting the water run down both sides of his lips as he did so.
“Easy, boy, easy,” Keith said as he stepped out of the jail cell. “You drink that too fast, you’ll make yourself sick.”
“Yes, sir, I know,” Dewey said. “But I’m powerful thirsty.”
Sheriff Williams found U.S. Marshal Gilmore having his lunch in Miller’s Cafe.
“Marshal, this here is Dewey Calhoun. He came into the office a while ago tellin’ a story about being attacked by Injuns. And seeing as dealing with Indians is more a federal thing than county, I figured we should, more than likely, bring you in on it.”
“Where did this happen?” Marshal Gilmore asked.
“Out on the Picket Post Road,” Dewey said.
“He was on a wagon, Marshal, and get this. The wagon was carryin’ saltpeter. You know what that’s used for, don’t you?”
“Yes, I know.”
“It’s used for makin’ gunpowder,” Williams said, not to be denied showing his knowledge.
“Have you had your lunch, boy?” Marshal Gilmore asked.
“No, sir, it got left back on the wagon,” Dewey said.
“Faye,” the marshal called. “Bring the boy your blue plate lunch special.”
“Sure thing, Marshal,” a middle-aged woman answered.
“Now, boy, tell me all about it,” Marshal Gilmore said.
The rig Bixby rented had been on the trail for the better part of the morning. The day had started out warm, and was now hot. As the steel-rimmed wheels rolled across the hard-packed earth, they picked up dirt, causing a rooster tail of dust to stream out behind them. The wood of the buckboard was bleached white, and under the sun it gave off a rather pungent smell. As Bixby drove the team, Cynthia sat in the sun on the dried seat of the wagon, looking at the map Bixby had given her.
“Do you see anything familiar?” Bixby asked.
“That obelisk over there has to be Weaver’s Needle,” Cynthia said, pointing to the tall rock column. “And if it is, then we are right here.”
“Why this—this is nothing more than desert,” Bixby said. “I was led to believe I would be buying land that could
