Willard Mims stared at him in silence. Then he said, his voice calmer, 'You won't be so sure of yourself after we get to Bisbee.'
Ignoring him, Rintoon turned to Brennan. 'Swing that saddle up here.'
'You hear what I said?' Willard Mims flared.
Reaching down for the saddle horn as Brennan lifted it, Rintoon answered, 'You said I'd be sorry when we got to Bisbee.'
'You remember that!'
'I sure will. Now you get back inside, Willard.' He glanced at Brennan. 'You get in there, too, Pat.'
Willard Mims stiffened. 'I'll remind you again--this is not the passenger coach.'
Brennan was momentarily angry, but he saw the way Rintoon was taking this and he said calmly, 'You want me to walk? It's only fifteen miles to Sasabe.'
'I didn't say that,' Mims answered, moving to the coach door. 'If you want to come, get up on the boot.' He turned to look at Brennan as he pulled himself up on the foot rung. 'If we'd wanted company we'd have taken the scheduled run. That clear enough for you?'
Glancing at Rintoon, Brennan swung the Henry rifle up to him and said, 'Yes, sir,' not looking at Mims; and he winked at Rintoon as he climbed the wheel to the driver's seat.
A moment later they were moving, slowly at first, bumping and swaying; then the road seemed to become smoother as the teams pulled faster.
Brennan leaned toward Rintoon and said, in the noise, close to the driver's grizzled face, 'I wondered why the regular stage would be almost an hour early, Ed, I'm obliged to you.'
Rintoon glanced at him. 'Thank Mr. Mims.'
'Who is he, anyway?'
'Old man Gateway's son-in-law. Married the boss's daughter. Married into the biggest copper claim in the country.'
'The girl with him his wife?'
'Doretta,' Rintoon answered. 'That's Gateway's daughter. She was scheduled to be an old maid till Willard come along and saved her from spinsterhood. She's plain as a 'dobe wall.'
Brennan said, 'But not too plain for Willard, eh?'
Rintoon gave him a side glance. 'Patrick, there ain't nothing plain about old man Gateway's holdings. That's the thing. Four years ago he bought a half interest in the Montezuma Copper Mine for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and he's got it back triple since then. Can you imagine anyone having that much money?'
Brennan shook his head. 'Where'd he get it, to start?'
'They say he come from money and made more by using the brains God gave him, investing it.'
Brennan shook his head again. 'That's too much money, Ed. Too much to have to worry about.'
'Not for Willard, it ain't,' Rintoon said. 'He started out as a bookkeeper with the company. Now he's general manager--since the wedding. The old man picked Willard because he was the only one around he thought had any polish, and he knew if he waited much longer he'd have an old maid on his hands. And, Pat'--Rintoon leaned closer--'Willard don't talk to the old man like he does to other people.'
'She didn't look so bad to me,' Brennan said.
'You been down on Sasabe Creek too long.' Rintoon glanced at him again. 'What were you saying about losing your horse to Tenvoorde?'
'Oh, I went to see him about buying some yearlings--'
'On credit,' Rintoon said.
Brennan nodded. 'Though I was going to pay him some of it cash. I told him to name a fair interest rate and he'd have it in two years. But he said no. Cash on the line. No cash, no yearlings. I needed three hundred to make the deal, but I only had fifty. Then when I was going he said, 'Patrick'--you know how he talks--'I'll give you a chance to get your yearlings free,' and all the time he's eyeing this claybank mare I had along. He said, 'You bet your mare and your fifty dollars cash, I'll put up what yearlings you need, and we'll race your mare against one of my string for the winner.''
Ed Rintoon said, 'And you lost.'
'By a country mile.'
'Pat, that don't sound like you. Why didn't you take what your fifty would buy and get on home?'
'Because I needed these yearlings plus a good seed bull. I could've bought the bull, but I wouldn't have had the yearlings to build on. That's what I told Mr. Tenvoorde. I said, 'This deal's as good as the stock you're selling me. If you're taking that kind of money for a seed bull and yearlings, then you know they can produce. You're sure of getting your money.''
'You got stock down on your Sasabe place,' Rintoon said.
'Not like you think. They wintered poorly and I got a lot of building to do.'
'Who's tending your herd now?'
'I still got those two Mexican boys.'
'You should've known better than to go to Tenvoorde.'
'I didn't have a chance. He's the only man close enough with the stock I want.'
'But a bet like that--how could you fall into it? You know he'd have a pony to outstrip yours.'
'Well, that was the chance I had to take.'
They rode along in silence for a few minutes before Brennan asked, 'Where they coming from?'
Rintoon grinned at him. 'Their honeymoon. Willard made the agent put on a special run just for the two of them. Made a big fuss while Doretta tried to hide her head.'
'Then'--Brennan grinned--'I'm obliged to Mr. Mims, else I'd still be waiting back there with my saddle and my Henry.'
Later on, topping a rise that was thick with jack pine, they were suddenly in view of the Sasabe station and the creek beyond it, as they came out of the trees and started down the mesquite-dotted sweep of the hillside.
Rintoon checked his timepiece. The regular run was due here at five o'clock. He was surprised to see that it was only ten minutes after four. He remembered then, his mind picturing Willard Mims as he chartered the special coach.
Brennan said, 'I'm getting off here at Sasabe.'
'How'll you get over to your place?'
'Hank'll lend me a horse.'
As they drew nearer, Rintoon was squinting, studying the three adobe houses and the corral in back. 'I don't see anybody,' he said. 'Hank's usually out in the yard. Him or his boy.'
Brennan said, 'They don't expect you for an hour. That's it.'
'Man, we make enough noise for somebody to come out.'
Rintoon swung the teams toward the adobes, slowing them as Brennan pushed his boot against the brake lever, and they came to a stop exactly even with the front of the main adobe.
'Hank!'
Rintoon looked from the door of the adobe out over the yard. He called the name again, but there was no answer. He frowned. 'The damn place sounds deserted,' he said.
Brennan saw the driver's eyes drop to the sawed-off shotgun and Brennan's Henry on the floor of the boot, and then he was looking over the yard again.
'Where in hell would Hank've gone to?'
A sound came from the adobe. A boot scraping--that or something like it--and the next moment a man was standing in the open doorway. He was bearded, a dark beard faintly streaked with gray and in need of a trim. He was watching them calmly, almost indifferently, and leveling a Colt at them at the same time.
He moved out into the yard and now another man, armed with a shotgun, came out of the adobe. The bearded one held his gun on the door of the coach. The shotgun was leveled at Brennan and Rintoon.
'You-all drop your guns and come on down.' He wore range clothes, soiled and sun bleached, and he held the shotgun calmly as if doing this was not something new. He was younger than the bearded one by at least ten years.
Brennan raised his revolver from its holster and the one with the shotgun said, 'Gently, now,' and grinned as
