Matt couldn’t help but chuckle. “Bixby at the Dry Gulch?”
The clerk chuckled as well. “Yes, it is hard to imagine, isn’t it? Someone like Bixby at a place like the Dry Gulch?”
When Matt stepped into the saloon a few minutes later, the celebration was in full swing. Nearly all the men of Willis’s posse were drunk and a few had even passed out. The others were talking loud, telling stories of the great battle that had taken place.
“There was no battle,” Matt said as he stepped up to the bar. “I’ll have one of Mr. Marcus’s beers,” he said.
“What do you mean there was no battle?” Meechum demanded. “Are you saying we didn’t kill a bunch of Delshay’s murderin’ Apaches?”
“You killed a bunch of Indians all right,” Matt said as he blew the head off the beer that was put before him. “But they weren’t murderers, and they weren’t with Delshay. You went onto the reservation and attacked a peaceful village.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I spoke to Nopoloto, one of the Indians who lived in the reservation village you attacked. And I found Delshay’s latest encampment. There were no signs of any battle there.”
“Did you say Nopoloto?” one of the saloon patrons asked.
“Yes.”
“Nopoloto used to ride with Cochise. He’s not an Indian you want to get mad at you. We’ll be lucky if the entire Apache Nation doesn’t go to war because of that.”
“Let ’em go to war,” Willis said bombastically. “If they do, we’ll be ready for them. Right, boys?”
“Right,” Meechum replied.
Matt noticed that the rest of the men, at least those who were not passed out drunk, were pointedly silent in response to Willis’s challenge.
“It looks like you may wind up fighting this war all alone, Willis,” Matt said. “And even you can’t draw fast enough, or shoot straight enough, to handle this all by yourself.”
“What about you?” Willis asked. “You say you found Delshay’s village. Did you see him?”
“No, I did not see him.”
“I see,” Willis replied. “And did you find the woman?”
“No.”
“Well, then, it looks like we are about even, don’t it, Mr. Matt Jensen?”
Without answering, Matt walked back to the table where Bixby and Hendel were sitting.
“May I join you?” he asked.
“Yes, please do,” Hendel replied graciously.
“I heard you tell them that you didn’t find my wife,” Bixby said.
“No, I did not.” Matt reached for his pocket, intending to show Bixby the note he had found, but before he could, Bixby spoke again.
“There’s no need in your going out there again,” he said. “Cynthia is dead. I know she is.”
Matt shook his head. “I don’t believe she is dead.”
“I know, I know, you explained all about how Indians don’t bury their enemy. But that means nothing to me. I know that she is dead.”
“Mr. Bixby, I wish you had a little more confidence,” Hendel said. “I am convinced that she is still alive.”
“You hold on to that conviction, Mr. Hendel,” Bixby said. “In the meantime, I want you to go to the depot and secure two tickets for our return to New York. I have been in this accursed place quite long enough now. I am ready to go home.”
“No, Mr. Bixby, I will not purchase a return ticket for you,” Hendel said.
“What? What did you just say to me?” Bixby gasped, shocked at the response of the man who had always been subservient to him.
“I said, Mr. Bixby, that I will not purchase a return ticket for you.”
“How dare you refuse me!”
“We are not leaving Phoenix until Cynthia has been rescued,” Hendel said.
“Cynthia, is it? Since when do you have the right to call my wife by her first name?”
“As it is evident that I am more concerned for her welfare than you, I have assumed that right,” Hendel said. “Neither you nor I will leave here until she has safely returned.”
“You are wasting your noble feelings, Hendel. My wife is dead.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“That’s because you don’t want to believe it. But I know she is dead.”
“How do you know she is dead?”
