'So it's like that,' Pyke said.
'You got two feet,' Sandal said. 'Stand on them. Show us how the segundo would do it.'
'Listen, you chili picker! You're through!'
'Sure, Layo. Now talk to that boy out there.'
'Mr. Kergosen's going to run every damn one of you!' Pyke half turned to face them, shifting the lantern to his left hand, the light swaying across Sandal and the chestnut color of his horse.
'We'll talk to him,' Sandal said.
Pyke stared at him. 'You know what you done, you and the rest? You jawed yourself out of jobs. You see how easy a new one is to find. Mr. Kergosen's going to be burned, but sure as hell I'm going to'--his feet started to shift--'tell him!'
As he said it, Pyke was spinning on his toes, swinging the lantern hard at Treat, seeing it in the air, then going to his right, but seeing Treat moving, with the revolver suddenly in his hand, and at that moment Treat fired.
Pyke was half around when the bullet struck him. He stumbled back against the front of the adobe, came forward drawing, bringing up his Colt, then half turned, falling against the adobe as Treat fired again and the second bullet hit him. The revolver fell from Pyke's hand and he stood against the wall staring at Treat, holding his arms bent slightly, but stiffly against his sides, as if afraid to move them. He had been shot through both arms, both just above the elbow.
Treat walked toward him. 'Leo,' he said, 'you've got two things to remember. One, you're not coming back here again. And two, I could've aimed dead center.' He turned from Pyke to Sandal. 'If you want to do him a good turn, tie up his arms and take him to a doctor. The rest of you,' he said to the mounted men, 'can tell Mr. Kergosen I'm still here.'
He was told, and he came the next morning, riding into the yard with a shotgun across his lap. He rode up to Treat, who was standing in front of the adobe, and the shotgun was pointing down at him when Kergosen drew in the reins. They looked at each other in the clear morning sunlight, in the yellow, bright stillness of the yard.
'I could pull the trigger,' Kergosen said, 'and it would be over.'
'Over for me,' Treat said. 'Not for you or Ellis.'
Kergosen sat heavily in the saddle. He had not shaved this morning and his eyes told that he'd had little sleep. 'You won't draw a gun against me?'
'No, sir.'
'Why?'
'If I did, I'd have to live with Ellis the rest of my life the way you're doing now.'
'So you're in a hole.'
'But no deeper than the one you're in.'
Kergosen studied him. 'I underestimated you. I thought you'd run.'
'Because you told me to?'
'That was reason enough.'
'You're too used to giving orders,' Treat said.
'You've been Number One a long time and you've forgotten what it's like to have somebody contrary to you.'
'I didn't get where I am having people contrary to me,' Kergosen stated. 'I worked and fought and earned the right to give orders, but I prayed to God to lead me right, and don't you forget that!'
'Mr. Kergosen,' Treat said quietly, 'are you afraid I can't provide for your daughter?'
'Provide!' Kergosen's face tightened. 'An Apache buck provides. He builds a hut for his woman and brings her meat. Any man with one hand and a gun can provide. We're talking about my daughter, not a flat-nosed Indian woman--and you have to put up a damn sight more than meat and a hut!'
Treat said, 'You think I won't make something of myself?'
'Mister, all you've proved to me is that you can read sign and shoot.' Kergosen paused before asking, 'Why didn't you sign a complaint to get Ellis back? Don't you know your rights? That what I'm talking about. You can track a renegade Apache, you can stand off five men with a Colt, but you don't know how to live with a white man!' 'Mr. Kergosen,' Treat said patiently, 'I could've got a writ. I could've prosecuted you for tearing down my house. I could've killed Leo Pyke with almost a clear conscience. I could've done a lot of things.'
'But you didn't,' Kergosen said.
'No, I waited.'
'If you're waiting for me to die of old age--'
'Mr. Kergosen, I'm interested in your daughter, not your property. We can get along just fine with what we're building on.'
'Which is nothing,' Kergosen said.
'When you started,' Treat asked, 'what did you have?'
'When I married I had over one hundred square miles of land. Miles, mister, not acres. I was going on forty years old, sure of myself and not a kid anymore.'
'I'm almost thirty, Mr. Kergosen.'
'I'll say it again: And you've got nothing.'
'Nothing but time.'
'Listen,' Kergosen said earnestly. 'You don't count on the future like it's nothing but years to fill up. You fill them up, good or bad, according to your ability and willingness to sweat, but you're sure of that future before you ask a woman to face it with you.'
Treat said, 'You had somebody picked for Ellis?'
'Not by name, but a man who can offer her something.'
'So you planned her future, and it turned out different.'
'Damn it, I try to do what's right!'
'According to your rules.'
'With God's help!'
'Mr. Kergosen,' Treat said, 'I don't mean disrespect, but I think you've rigged it so God has to take the blame for your mistakes. Ellis and I made a mistake. We admit it. We should've come to you first. We would've got married whether you said yes or no, but we still should've come to you first. The way it is now, it's still up to you, but now you're in an embarrassing position with the Almighty. Ellis and I are married in the eyes of the same God that you say's been guiding you all this time, thirty years or more. All right, you and Him have been getting along fine up to now. But now what?'
Kergosen said nothing.
'We could probably argue all day,' Treat said, 'but it comes down to this: You either go home and send out some more men, or you use that scattergun, or you come inside and have some coffee, and we'll talk it over like two grown-up men.' Kergosen stared at him. 'I admire your control, Mr. Treat.'
'I've learned how to wait, Mr. Kergosen. If it comes down to that, I'll outwait you. I think you know that.'
Kergosen was silent for a long moment. He looked down at his hands on the shotgun and exhaled, letting his breath out slowly, wearily, and he seemed to sit lower on the saddle.
'I think I'm getting old,' he said quietly. 'I'm tired of arguing and tired of fighting.'
'Maybe tired of fighting yourself,' Treat said. Kergosen nodded faintly. 'Maybe so.'
Treat waited, then said, 'Mr. Kergosen, I'm anxious to see my wife.'
Kergosen's face came up, out of shadow, deeplined and solemn, but the hard tightness was gone from his jaw. He shifted his weight and came down off the saddle, and on the ground he handed the shotgun to Treat.
'Phil,' he said, 'this damn thing's getting too heavy to hold.'
From his pocket Treat brought out the bank draft Kergosen had given him. He handed it over, saying, 'So is this, Mr. Kergosen.'
They stood for a moment. Kergosen's hand went into his pocket with the bank draft and when they moved toward the adobe, the bitterness between them was past. It had worn itself to nothing.
