It was after dark when Matt and the others returned to Phoenix. Matt went to the hotel, intending to give his report to Bixby and Hendel, but when he stepped into the lobby, the clerk called to him.
“Mr. Jensen?”
Matt, who was carrying his .44-40 Winchester in his left hand and his saddlebags across his shoulders, walked over to the front desk.
“Hello, Mr. Peters,” Matt said.
“Did you find Mrs. Bixby?” Peters asked.
“No.”
“That’s too bad.”
“I’m just about to give the report to Bixby and Hendel. Do you know if they are in their rooms?”
“No sir, they are not,” Peters replied. “Mr. Hendel told me to tell you when you came back that he and Bixby are taking their supper over at the Maison Doree Restaurant.”
“Thanks,” Matt said. He held up his rifle. “I’ll just get rid of a few things, wash up a bit, then join them.”
Hendel and Bixby were sitting at a table near the back wall. Hendel was drinking a cup of coffee, which was the only thing in front of him. Bixby had a full plate of food, which he was attacking with some gusto. When Hendel saw Matt approaching the table, he got a quick look of apprehension.
“Did you find her?” Hendel asked.
“No, I didn’t.”
“Oh,” Hendel said, the word coming out like a slow hiss of steam.
“I didn’t think you would,” Bixby said. He picked up a knife and started spreading butter on a biscuit. “More than likely, she is dead and buried.”
“You don’t seem terribly troubled by that,” Matt said.
Bixby used the knife as a pointer, pointing to Matt as he spoke.
“Who are you to judge me?” he said. “Don’t forget, Jensen, I’ve seen you in operation. I saw how you killed three men in cold blood and now, because I am too civilized and, I might add, controlled to sit here wailing and gnashing my teeth over the prospect of my wife being killed by wild Indians, you think I am a man with no feelings.”
“She’s not dead,” Matt said.
“I mean, when I escaped from them, I knew the chances were—”
“She’s not dead,” Matt said again, interrupting Bixby in mid-sentence.
“Oh, thank God!” Hendel said.
“How do you know she’s not dead?”
“Because we didn’t find her.”
“If she’s dead and buried, you aren’t likely to find her.”
“The Apache don’t bury their dead—at least, not in the sense that you think of being buried. They put their dead in natural tombs—caves—depressions in the sides of mountains—then cover them with rocks. But that is an honor that they only do with their own. If they had killed Mrs. Bixby, we would have found her body—just as we found the bodies of Mr. Malcolm and the six miners that were killed.”
“Oh,” Hendel said. “Here I was being happy that you did not find Mrs. Bixby’s body, while you did find seven others. That was terribly insensitive of me.”
“No, it wasn’t,” Matt said. “It is only natural that you would be concerned more about Mrs. Bixby than the others.”
“You are sure that Cynthia is still alive?” Bixby said.
“I’m reasonably sure, yes,” Matt said. “If they didn’t kill her when they first captured the two of you, then in all probability she will still be alive.”
“What will they do with her?”
“They’ll make her their prisoner.”
“No, you don’t understand the question. What will they do with her?” Bixby asked. “Will they—uh—will they —”
“Are you asking if they will rape her?” Matt asked.
“Yes.”
Matt shook his head. “I doubt it.”
“You doubt it? But you don’t really know, right?”
“There is a possibility they could force her into marrying one of the warriors,” Matt said. “Maybe even Delshay himself, since his own wife and children were murdered by whites. But that’s not the same thing as rape.”
“I’d like to know what that is if it isn’t rape,” Bixby said. “In your own words, you said she would be forced to
