He turned to see Katie standing in the doorway that led to the kitchen. His gaze rested on her face--tanned, freckled, clear-eyed, a face that smiled often, but now held on his earnestly.
'Ross, I heard what you were telling Billy.'
'I can't work for that man anymore.'
'Can't you find something else around here?'
'There isn't anything.'
'Fort Thomas. Why can't you guide out of there?'
Corsen shrugged. 'There's a chance, but I'd still have to go through the department commander's office at Whipple.' 'Ross . . .' Her voice was a whisper.
It showed on her face that was not eager now and seemed even pale beneath the sun coloring. The face of a girl, sensitive nose and mouth, but in her clear, blue, serious eyes the awareness of a woman. Katie was nineteen. She had known Ross Corsen for almost three years, meeting him the day after she had arrived to live with her uncle. And she expected to marry him, even though he never mentioned it. She knew how he felt. Ross didn't have to say a word. It was in the way he looked at her, in the way he had kissed her for the first time only a few weeks ago--a small, soft, lingering, inexperienced kiss. She loved Corsen; very simply she loved him, because he was a man, respected as a man, and because he was a boy at the same time. Perhaps just as she was girl and woman in one.
'Are you coming back?'
'Of course I am.'
'What if you're stationed somewhere far away?'
'I'll come and get you,' he answered.
Billy Teachout looked at them, from one to the other. 'Maybe I've been inside too much.' To the girl he said, 'Has he behaved himself?'
'Billy,' Corsen said, 'I was going to ask you.
This is all of a sudden--' Then, to Katie, 'I'm taking the stage.' He smiled faintly. 'If I leave my horse here, I've got to come back.'
'The stage!' Delgado was in the doorway momentarily. The screen door banged and he was gone. It came in from the east, a thin sand trail, a shadow leading the dust that rose furiously into a billowing tail.
Delgado was swinging out with the grayed wooden gate. Then the stage, rumbling in an arc toward the opening, and the hoarse-throated voice of Ernie Ball, the driver.
'Delgadooo!'
The little Mexican was in front of the lead horses now, reaching for reins close to the bit rings.
'Delgado, you half-a-man! Hold 'em, chico!'
Ernie Ball was off the box, grinning, wiping the back of a gnarled hand over his mouth, smoothing the waxed tips of his full mustache. His palm slapped the thin wood of the coach door, then swung it open to bang on its hinges.
'Rindo's Station!'
Billy Teachout came out carrying a paintbrush and a bucket half full of axle grease. Ross and Katie were already outside.
'You're late,' Billy told the driver. Ernie Ball pulled a dull gold watch from his vest pocket. 'Seven minutes! That's the earliest I've been late.' He replaced the watch and dipped a thumb and forefinger daintily into the grease bucket, then twirled the tips of his mustache between the fingers.
'Ross, how are you? Katie, honey.' He touched his hat brim to the girl.
Ross Corsen was looking past the stage driver to the man coming out of the coach--the familiar black broadcloth suit and flat-crowned hat. The man reached the ground and there it was, the bland expression, the carefully trimmed mustache. He carried a leather business case tightly and carefully under his arm.
W. F. Sellers. Field supervisor. Southwest Area. Bureau of Indian Affairs.
'Fifteen minutes,' Ernie Ball was saying, 'for those going on. Time enough for a drink if the innkeeper's feelin' right. Hey, Billy!' His voice changed as he turned to Sellers. 'End of the line for you and your friend.'
Another man was out of the coach. He stepped down uncertainly and moved next to Sellers. Two others came down, squinting at the glare- thin-lipped, sun-darkened men in range clothes. They stretched and looked about idly, then moved beyond the back of the stage, walking the stiffness from their legs.
Sellers had not taken his eyes from Corsen.
'I thought you might have had the politeness of staying to meet your successor.'
Corsen looked at the other man now. 'Mr. Verbiest,' he said, 'I hope you know what you're doing.'
'I've instructed Mr. Verbiest on how the agency should be run,' Sellers said.
'Then you both ought to make a nice profit,'
Billy Teachout said mildly.
Sellers stared at him narrowly. 'All we want from you is a couple of horses.'
'What for?'
'None of your damn business.'
Verbiest said, smiling, 'We're riding north to the San Carlos Agency. I'd like to take a look at how a smooth- running reservation operates.'
'Sellers'll learn you without riding way up there,' Ernie Ball said. 'All you need is some spare weights to heavy your scale for when you're passing out the 'Paches their beef.' Ernie laughed and looked at Teachout. 'Hey, Billy?'
'You're insinuating something that could get you into a great deal of trouble in court,' Sellers told the stage driver.
'Insinuatin'!' Sellers turned on Billy Teachout. 'I said two horses. Good ones!'
'I'm not the stable hand. Wait for Delgado or get them yourself.'
Sellers's face showed no reaction. But he said quietly, 'Mr. Teachout, you're through here--as of the next time I get to Prescott.'
The station agent shrugged. 'While I'm waiting, I'll go inside and pour drinks for those that wants.'
Corsen relaxed, exhaling slowly, and watched them all go inside. It was a relief not to have to put up with Sellers anymore. Just seeing him had made his stomach tighten. He glanced at Katie.
'This is a poor way to say good-bye.'
'For how long, Ross?'
'Maybe a few months.'
The screen door slammed. Corsen remembered the two men in range clothes then. They must have just gone in. Then he was looking at Katie, at the expression changing on her face, eyes alive, looking at something behind him. He turned sharply. Standing a few feet away was one of the men in range clothes. He stood with his legs spread, as if bracing himself, a short man in faded Levi's, holding a pistol dead on Corsen's stomach.
Chapter Three
'Raise your hands up.' He motioned with the pistol. 'You too, honey.' He came forward slowly.
'I'm not armed,' Corsen said.
'Take your coat off and drop it.'
Corsen took off the worn buckskin and let it fall. He backed up as the man motioned with the pistol, then watched him trample on the coat to make certain there was no gun in it.
'Inside now,' the man said.
His partner stood one legged, his left boot on a chair, leaning slightly, elbow on knee, hand holding the pistol idly.
Billy Teachout was behind the bar. Ernie Ball, Sellers, and Verbiest stood in front of it, all with their arms raised. Three pistols were on the floor, along with the business case Sellers had been carrying. Ygenia, Delgado's wife, stood in the kitchen doorway, unable to move.
