burlap sacks were fastened at the two windows of the single-room building which was furnished only with a table and a couple of straight-backed wooden chairs.
Chiricahua went to the doorway. “Johnson,” he said softly, “you and Ordway stay out there and keep those Injuns quiet. Tell ’em they won’t have to wait long and keep your eyes peeled to tip us off if anything goes wrong— though I don’t reckon it will. Anvil should be along pretty soon.”
He shut the door and sat down at the table. George Kilby took a chair by his side, and Bert Ridge found a seat on the floor with his back to the wall. Cigarettes were rolled and lighted.
Chiricahua said, “George, where’d you put that box?”
“Right behind you,” Kilby said, “where it will be within easy reach.”
Herrick laughed a bit uneasily. “For a moment I thought you’d forgotten it.”
“Not that box,” Kilby stated definitely. “I might have forgotten one in the past, but that damn box of buttons caused us too much trouble to be forgotten easy.”
“By Jeez!” Ridge commented. “That was once we nearly got caught. That damned Bowman would have had us dead to rights——”
“That reminds me.” Chiricahua Herrick frowned. “I think that blasted Oscar Perkins has something in mind ——”
“If it’s anything but lemon drops”—Kilby grinned—“I’ll be a heap surprised.”
“Don’t you grade Perkins down none.” Herrick frowned. “That deputy has more sense than we give him credit for, unless”—he paused suddenly, struck by a new idea—“unless that Tolliver hombre is back of it——”
“Back of what?” Ridge asked.
“This afternoon,” Herrick explained, “the barkeep of the Pozo Verde Saloon told me Perkins had been in asking questions.”
Kilby asked, “What sort of questions?”
“Perkins wanted to know if there was any shooting heard out back of the saloon the night Frank Bowman was killed——”
“My Gawd!” Kilby exclaimed, and some of the color left his face. “That comes pretty nigh to hit-tin’ the bull’s-eye. The railroad station ain’t much more than good spittin’ distance back of the saloon.”
“I’ve been thinkin’ about that, too,” Herrick growled. “I don’t like it——”
“Look,” Ridge broke in, “did the barkeep hear anything that night?”
“We got a break,” Herrick said quietly. “Don’t you remember, day before yesterday was payday for the Bar- L-Bar outfit? The whole crew was celebrating. The barkeep tells me they made plenty noise. Some of ’em was even shooting holes in the clouds. So,” and he smiled craftily, “the shot that got Bowman was never noticed.”
Kilby gave a long sigh of relief. “That
“It’s too damn bad,” Ridge commented, “that we couldn’t have fastened that job on Tolliver.”
“Tolliver will get his yet,” Herrick promised darkly. “Only that I got orders from the chief not to start anything I’d slung a slug through Tolliver this morning.”
“Why’d the big boss give orders like that?” Kilby asked.
Herrick shrugged his shoulders. “He gives orders, and I take ’em. I’m paid well, so I don’t kick. Howsomever, he probably don’t want any of us mixed into any shooting scrapes until things are all set. We don’t want to attract no more attention than possible.”
“I’d like a chance to put a fortyfour right through Tolliver’s belly,” Kilby snarled. “I got to get even for the wallop he give me this mornin’——”
“I reckon you had that coming,” Herrick said coldly. “Only for you getting crocked and talking more than you should nobody would ever have known I rode to Tipata to check on Tolliver’s alibi. Yep, sometimes I could almost wish Tolliver had plugged you——”
“Aw, hell, Chiricahua,” Kilby protested, “I told you I didn’t know what I was doing. I made a mistake—I admit it.”
“It’d be your neck if I told the boss,” Herrick snapped. “I reckon you wouldn’t last long if he knew——”
“Is that right?” Kilby said, bristling. “I wouldn’t advise this boss you’re always takin’ orders from to get too hard with me. I know too much.”
Herrick nodded coolly. “I know you do, George. There was a couple of other fellers just like you—they knew too much. That’s why we had to get rid of ’em. And we didn’t just tell ’em to get out of the gang. Do you see what I mean?”
Kilby gulped and shivered a little. “I see what you mean,” he said shakily, and fell silent.
“Don’t forget it then,” Herrick said cruelly. “There’s no place in our gang for hombres who run off at the head. There’s more ’n one way to keep a feller from talking—but there’s only one sure way.”
“Sure, Chiricahua,” Kilby said placatingly. “I know what you mean.”
There was silence for a few moments. Kilby produced a flask and drank deeply. Herrick was restored to good humor again. “Going to keep that all to yourself?” he demanded. “Me ’n’ Bert could stand a drink.”
The flask was passed around until it was empty. Then Herrick said, “I don’t know just what to think of Tolliver.”
Ridge asked, “Why?”
Herrick shrugged. “I don’t know. I got a feeling I’m due to cross guns with him. Well, the sooner the better.”
There was another silence before Kilby said, “Anvil’s later than usual, seems like.”
“I reckon not,” Herrick replied. “You’re just nervous, George.”
“Maybe I got a right to be,” Kilby said. “If anybody ever stumbled onto us we’d have some fast explanations to make. I don’t see why the big chief doesn’t take the stuff over into Sonora instead of having those Yaquentes come here for it.”
“The big boss isn’t running any more risk than necessary,” Herrick said. “The Mexican Government don’t cater to those Yaquentes having guns, or buttons either. Suppose some of us got picked up in Mexico—running that stuff into the country? Anyway, don’t you worry, George. I reckon this will be the last for a spell. We should have enough stuff over there now to outfit a young army.”
“I still don’t get the idea of the mezcal buttons,” Ridge put in. “Guns, yes, that’s clear, but——”
“A Yaquente will do anything for anybody that gives him a button he can dry and eat,” Herrick said. “The tribe has just about cleaned out the hills in their own neighborhood and they don’t like the idea of traveling farther south to get the buttons for their ceremonies——” He paused suddenly.
Outside could be heard the sounds made by an arriving team and wagon, then loud tones as the wagon was tooled into place near the building.
“There’s Anvil now.” Kilby looked relieved.
“And noisier ’n hell!” Herrick said angrily. “Whoever named him Anvil sure called the turn. Loud and hard!” He jerked open the door and snapped, “Cut out the noise, Wheeler. You’ll have the whole town down on us. Ridge— Kilby—get out and help Ordway and Johnson bring in them boxes.”
Kilby and Ridge hurried outside. Anvil Wheeler jumped down from the wagon he had been driving and strode into the ’dobe building. He was a big, powerfully built man with a hooked nose and wide spreading mustaches. A tattered, roll-brim sombrero was yanked down on one side of his head.
Herrick said, “You’re late.”
“Hell’s bells!” Anvil Wheeler replied. “I pushed that team right along. After all, it’s quite some miles to Saddleville and back——”
“Have any trouble?” Herrick asked.
“Not none.”
“All right, get them boxes open when the boys bring ’em in. Get Kilby to help you.” From the doorway Herrick gave further orders. “Get them Injuns lined up, Johnson. Keep ’em quiet and keep ’em moving. We want to get away from here as soon as possible.”
Pine boxes were carried into the building. Johnson and one of the other men were getting the Indians in line. There was little talking now. Anvil Wheeler and Kilby were removing covers from the boxes, Kilby with tools, Wheeler with main brute strength much of the time.
Finally all was in readiness. Herrick sat at the table again, the box of mezcal buttons within easy reach. Kilby and Wheeler stood near the boxes of rifles and six-shooters. Johnson entered from outside. He was grinning. “Them
