The one on the chair waved Ross and Katie toward the others. They moved across the room and stood by the front window. 'Buz,' he said then, 'round up that Mexican. He's outside somewhere.'
Ernie Ball was squinting at the gunman. 'Your face is starting to ring a bell, but your name don't register.' 'How would you know my name?'
'You entered Ed Fisher in the book when you paid your fare at Thomas.'
The gunman shrugged. 'That'll do. . . . What're you carrying this trip?'
'Mail.'
'That all?'
'Swear to God. It's on the rack if you want to look.'
The one called Buz came in through the kitchen, pushing past the Mexican woman.
'He ain't in sight. Not anywhere.'
Corsen glanced out at the yard. Just the stage was there. The horses had been taken away, but the change team had not yet been harnessed.
'That's all right,' Fisher said. 'Hand me your gun and go through their pockets. We got to move.'
He watched Buz search them, stuffing bills and coins into his pockets as he went along. 'About how much?' he asked when he had finished.
'Not more than a hundred and fifty.'
'What about that satchel there?' He pointed to the business case on the floor.
Instantly Sellers said, 'Those are government papers!' More calmly he said, 'Bureau statistics.'
Ed Fisher said, 'Buz, open it up.'
The gunman lifted the case and looked at Fisher with surprise. 'If there's writin' in here, it's cut on stone.' He carried it to the table and unfastened the straps and opened it. He brought out something folded in newspaper and unwrapped it carefully. A leather pouch. He pulled the thongs quickly, eagerly, and dumped the pouch upside- down on the table. The coins came out in a shower.
'Ed! Mint silver!'
Fisher was grinning at Sellers. 'How much, Buz?'
'Four, five, six pouches . . . about two thousand!'
Corsen was looking out of the window. There was something, a movement high up on the slope. Then, hearing Buz, he glanced quickly at Sellers. That was it, plain enough. Sellers didn't make that kind of money with a Bureau job. It could only come from selling Indian rations. But now, as the others watched Buz at the table, Corsen's eyes narrowed, looking out into the glare again, and now he could make out the movement. Far out, coming down from the slope, reaching the flat stretch now, were tiny specks, dots against the sand glare that he knew were riders. They were coming from where he had seen Bonito that morning, and suddenly, abruptly, Corsen realized who the riders were. Ed Fisher was saying, 'Get two horses and run off the others. One's saddled already.' He looked at the men in front of him. 'Whose mount is that in the shed, the chestnut?' Corsen looked from the window as the screen door slammed behind Buz going out. 'The chestnut's mine,' he said.
'Thanks for the use.'
'You're not going anywhere.'
Fisher looked at him quickly, then smiled, his eyes going to Katie. 'If you want to play Mister Brave for your girl, wait for when I got more time.'
'It's not me that's stopping you,' Corsen said, 'but I'll tell you again--you're not going anywhere.'
'You can talk plainer than that.'
'All right. Call to your partner.'
'What'll that prove?'
'Just see if he's still there.'
Fisher, yelled, 'Hey--Buz!'
There was a silence, then boot scuffing and Buz was at the door. 'What?'
Fisher looked at Corsen, then back to Buz.
'Nothing. Hurry up.'
Buz looked at him queerly and moved off again.
'Now what?' Fisher said.
'It'll come,' Corsen said. 'He hasn't seen them yet.'
'Seen who?'
And there it was, as if answering his question- the sound of running, boots on packed sand. Buz's voice yelling, hoarse with panic. Then he was at the door, stumbling against it. ' 'Paches!'
'Stay where you are!' Fisher held his pistol on the men at the bar and backed toward the door. He glanced out. 'How many?'
'Six of them! Let me in!'
'Keep watching!'
Through the window Corsen could now see the cluster of riders plainly, walking their ponies. They were in no hurry--not six, but five, coming across the flat stretch.
'They're peaceful.' It was Sellers who said this.
'There hasn't been a war party around here in over a year.'
Corsen looked at him. 'They're twenty miles off the reservation.'
'They've been known to wander, but when they do, they have to be taught a lesson. That was your trouble, Corsen--too easy on them. Verbiest, you come along with me and see how it's done.' Corsen said quietly, 'Bonito doesn't learn very fast.'
'Bonito?' Sellers showed surprise. 'He's down in the Madres.'
'He wasn't this morning when I talked to him.'
'And you're just now telling me?'
'I was fired.'
Fisher glanced out the door again, then back, his eyes stopping on Sellers. 'Have you got something to do with them?'
Sellers did not answer, but Teachout said, 'He's with the Bureau of Indian Affairs.'
'Then this is your party, mister,' Fisher said, looking at Sellers.
'I'm not obligated to confront known hostiles. That's common sense.'
Fisher moved out of the doorway. 'You don't have a choice. Get out there and find out what they want.' He waved the long-barreled pistol. 'Come on, all of you except the women. They stay here.'
In the yard Corsen glanced back once at the two outlaws in the doorway. Then they had reached the adobe wall and his gaze swung back to the five Mescaleros who had reined in a hundred paces beyond the wall.
Bonito was a pony's length ahead of the others. He did not resemble the man Corsen had talked to earlier. The flop-brimmed hat was gone and now his coarse face was paint-streaked--a line of ochre from ear to ear crossing the bridge of his nose, another over his chin. His headband was yellow, bright against long hair glistening with oil. Only one thing about him was the same--the Maynard across his lap.
Behind him were Bil-Clin, chief at the Pinaleno Agency, Bil-Clin's son, Sunshine, and two other Indians. All four were armed with old-model carbines. Corsen's eyes remained on the Mescaleros, but he said to Sellers, 'Let's see you go out and teach them a lesson.'
Sellers did not reply at first. He kept his eyes on the five Apaches, waiting, expecting them to make a move. Then he said, 'All right. Ask him what he wants.'
Corsen hesitated. He wanted to make it hard for Sellers, not offer any assistance, but there was Katie and the others to think of. He boosted himself over the wall, then motioned to the Apaches to come on. They moved forward, Bonito still in the lead, and when they were less than ten feet from the wall Bonito raised his arm and they stopped there.
'Cor-sen, we speak to each other again.'
'But this time not by accident.' 'You told me before that you were not with this one now.' Bonito's eyes shifted to Sellers.
'These are not ordinary circumstances,' Corsen answered. 'Tell me why you are here and I'll relate it to
