“I guess. The only thing is, if we promise Mean to His Horses that we are going to furnish him guns and we don’t, it’s goin’ to make him pretty mad.”
“Yeah, well, if we don’t get the guns, we’ll just stay away from him.”
“How long we been waitin’ here?” Regret asked.
“I don’t know. An hour, maybe two,” Davis replied.
“Maybe he ain’t goin’ to come.”
“Oh, he’ll come all right,” Davis said.
“What makes you so sure he’ll come?”
“Because he wants those weapons.”
“Which we ain’t got with us, I remind you,” Regret said.
“We don’t want the weapons with us when we first meet. Else he might just up and take ’em.”
“How’s he goin’ to do that? You said he was comin’ alone.”
“He is supposed to, and I believe he will. But, just in case he don’t come alone, our best bet is not to have the weapons with us.”
“Hey, look out there. Ain’t that him?” Davis asked, pointing.
Looking in the direction Davis had pointed out, Regret saw a lone rider coming toward them. Even though he was some distance away, they knew it was an Indian, and as he drew closer they saw his face, painted red on one side and white on the other, so they knew it was Mean to His Horses.
“Let’s go meet him,” Regret said.
“Wait until he gets a little closer,” Davis replied. The two men watched the Indian as he rode across the last three hundred yards, then when he was within one hundred yards of them, they rode out from the tree line where they had been waiting and started toward him. First Davis, and then Regret held up their right hands as they approached him. Mean to His Horses held his right hand up as well.
“Hello, Chief, it is good of you to come,” Regret said.
“You have guns to sell?” the Indian asked.
“Yes.”
“How many guns you have?”
“Many guns, and I can get many more.”
“I will buy.”
“With gold,” Davis said. “I’m only going to deal in gold.”
“In gold.”
“Then we have a deal.”
“Where are the guns?”
“I will deliver them to you. I did not bring them with me until I knew we would have a deal. Where is the gold?”
“You will have gold when I have guns,” Mean to His Horses said.
Davis chuckled. “Why, Mean to His Horses, you mean you don’t trust the white man?”
“You will get gold when I get guns,” Mean to His Horses repeated.
“All right, I’ll go along with that.”
“Why?” Mean to His Horses asked.
“Why what?”
“You are white, I am Indian. If you sell guns, I will make war on white man. Why do you sell?”
“I think the white man has done the Injun wrong,” Davis said. “I will sell the guns to you because I want to see justice done.”
“I think you lie,” Mean to His Horses said.
“What?”
“I think you sell guns because you want the gold I will give you, and you do not care if I make war on the whites.”
Davis laughed. “You are a pretty smart Injun,” he said. “You are right. I want the gold.”
Mean to His Horses nodded, then he looked toward the tree line near where Davis and Regret had waited for him. He held his hand in the air and four mounted Indians emerged from the woods, riding toward them.
“What the hell?” Davis said. “Where did they come from?”
Angus Ebersole, Clay Hawkins, Ike Peters, Jim Dewey, and Billy Taylor were in the Fireman’s Exchange Saloon, having just arrived in Sheridan on board the
