outstretched arms in the still water. And they found planted in the sand next to him, sticking straight up, a spear made of a bamboo fishing pole and a mortar trowel.
13
They camped on high ground south of Bates Well and in the morning came down through giant saguaro country, down through a hollow in the hills to within sight of Quitobaquito.
There it was, a row of weathered adobes and stock pens beyond a water hole that resembled a shallow, stagnant lake—a worn-out village on the bank of a dying pool that was rimmed with rushes and weeds and a few stunted trees.
Shelby didn’t like it.
He had pictured a green oasis and found a dusty, desert water hole. He had imagined a village where they could trade for food and fresh horses, a gateway to Mexico with the border lying not far beyond the village, across the Rio Sonoyta.
He didn’t like the look of the place. He didn’t like not seeing any people over there. He didn’t like the open fifty yards between here and the water hole.
He waited in a cover of rocks and brush with Norma and Junior and Soonzy behind him, and Mexico waiting less than a mile away. They could go around Quitobaquito. But if they did, where was the next water? The Sonoyta could be dried up, for all he knew. They could head for Santo Domingo, a fair-sized town that shouldn’t be too far away. But what if they missed it? There was water right in front of them and, goddamn-it, they were going to have some, all they wanted. But he hesitated, studying the village, waiting for some sign of life other than a dog barking, and remembering Joe Dean with the three bullets in his chest.
Junior said, “Jesus, are we gong to sit here in the sun all day?”
“I’ll let you know,” Shelby said.
“You want me to get the water?”
“I did, I would have told you.”
“Well, then tell me, goddamn-it. You think I’m scared to?”
Soonzy settled it. He said, “I think maybe everybody’s off some place to a wedding or something. That’s probably what it is. These people, somebody dies or gets married, they come from all over.”
“Maybe,” Shelby said.
“I don’t see no other way but for me to go in there and find out. What do you say, Frank?”
After a moment Shelby nodded. “All right, go take a look.”
“If it’s the nigger and the Indin,” Soonzy said, “if they’re in there, I’ll bring ’em out.”
Raymond held the wooden shutter open an inch, enough so he could watch Soonzy coming in from the east end of the village, mounted, a rifle across his lap. Riding right in, Raymond thought. Dumb, or sure of himself, or maybe both. He could stick a .44 out the window and shoot him as he went by. Except that it would be a risk. He couldn’t afford to miss and have Soonzy shooting in here. Raymond let the shutter close.
He pressed a finger to his lips and turned to the fourteen people, the men and women and children who were huddled in the dim room, sitting on the floor and looking up at him now, watching silently, even the two smallest children. The people were Mexican and Papago. They wore white cotton and cast-off clothes. They had lived here all their lives and they were used to armed men riding through Quitobaquito. Raymond had told them these were bad men coming who might steal from them and harm them. They believed him and they waited in silence. Now they could hear the horse’s hoofs on the hard-packed street. Raymond stood by the door with a revolver in his hand. The sound of the horse passed. Raymond waited, then opened the door a crack and looked out. Soonzy was nowhere in sight.
If anybody was going to shoot at anybody going for water, Soonzy decided, it would have to be from one of the adobes facing the water hole. There was a tree in the backyard of the first one that would block a clear shot across the hole. So that left him only two places to search—two low-roofed, crumbling adobes that stood bare in the sunlight, showing their worn bricks and looking like part of the land.
Soonzy stayed close to the walls on the front side of the street. When he came to the first adobe facing the water hole, he reached down to push the door open, ducked his head, and walked his horse inside.
He came out into the backyard on foot, holding a revolver now, and seeing just one end of the water hole because the tree was in the way. From the next adobe, though, a person would have a clear shot. There weren’t any side windows, which was good. It let Soonzy walk right up to the place. He edged around the corner, following his revolver to the back door and got right up against the boards so he could listen. He gave himself time; there was no hurry. Then he was glad he did when the sound came from inside, a little creeking sound, like a door or a window being opened.
Harold eased open the front door a little more. He still couldn’t see anything. The man had been down at the end of the street, coming this way on his horse big as anything, and now he was gone. He looked down half a block and across the street, at the adobe, where Raymond was waiting with the people, keeping them quiet and out of the way. He saw Raymond coming out; Harold wanted to wave to him to get inside. What was he doing?
The back door banged open and Soonzy was standing in the room covering him with a Colt revolver.
“Got you,” Soonzy said. “Throw the gun outside and turn this way. Where’s that red nigger at?”
“You mean Raymond?” Harold said. “He left. I don’t know where he went.”
“Which one of you shot Joe Dean, you or him?”
“I did. I haven’t seen Raymond since before that.”
“What’d you do with Virgil?”
“I don’t think I know any Virgil.”
“Frank’s brother. He took us off the train.”
“I haven’t seen him.”
“You want me to pull the trigger?”
“I guess you’ll pull it whether I tell or not.” Harold felt the door behind him touch the heel of his right foot. He had not moved the foot, but now he felt the door push gently against it.
“I’ll tell Frank Shelby,” Harold said then. “How’ll that be? You take me to Frank I’ll tell him where his brother is and them other two boys. But if you shoot me he won’t ever know where his brother’s at, will he? He’s liable to get mad at somebody.”
Soonzy had to think about that. He wasn’t going to be talked into anything he didn’t want to do. He said, “Whether I shoot you now or later you’re still going to be dead.”
“It’s up to you,” Harold said.
“All right, turn around and open the door.”
“Yes-suh, captain,” Harold said.
He opened the door and stepped aside and Raymond, in the doorway, fired twice and hit Soonzy dead center both times.
Shelby and Junior and Norma Davis heard the shots. They sounded far off, but the reports were thin and clear and unmistakable. Soonzy had gone into the village. Two shots were fired and Soonzy had not come out. They crouched fifty yards from water with empty canteens and the border less than a mile away.
Norma said they should go back to Bates Well. They could be there by evening, get water, and take the other trail south.
And run into a posse coming down from Gila, Shelby said. They didn’t have time enough even to wait here till dark. They had to go with water or go without it, but they had to go, now.
So Junior said Jesus, give me the goddamn canteens or we will be here all day. He said maybe those two could paint theirselves up and bushwack a man, but he would bet ten dollars gold they couldn’t shoot worth a damn for any distance. He’d get the water and be back in a minute. Shelby told Junior he would return fire and cover him if they started shooting, and Junior said that was mighty big of him.
“There,” Raymond said. “You see him?”
Harold looked out past the door frame to the water hole. “Whereabouts?”
