“No. You keep them.”
Zak looked around at the ground, the maze of wagon tracks. The adobe with its adjoining jacal was some kind of way station, he was sure. Someone had to haul in fodder for the horses, food and supplies for Felipe. He wondered how many such stations were scattered over the territory. Someone had gone to a great amount of trouble to stir up hatred against the Apaches.
“What have you got inside that adobe?” Zak asked suddenly.
“Nothing.”
“I want to take a look.”
“No. This is not permitted.”
“Are you hiding something in there?”
“No. I hide nothing.”
“I think you are, Felipe. Step aside. I’m going to take a look.”
Felipe hesitated. Zak took a step toward him, his right hand dropping to the butt of his pistol. It was a menacing move, deliberate, and Felipe got the message.
“Go inside, then.”
“You first,” Zak said.
Felipe shrugged. He turned and stepped inside, Cody right behind him. The hovel smelled of wood smoke and stale whiskey. A potbelly stove stood near the back wall, its fire gone out, but still leaking smoke from around its door and at a loose place on the pipe. A pot of coffee stood atop it, still steaming. Several bottles of whiskey lay on the floor, and half-empty bottles sat on a grimy table in the center of the room. The bunk in a corner reeked of sweat. On a sideboard he found several small cans of paint and brushes that had not yet been cleaned with the linseed oil standing nearby, next to a grimy wooden bowl.
Something caught Zak’s eye in another corner. He walked over, his stomach swirling with a sensation like winged insects.
“What’s this?” he said as Felipe stood there, his face waxen.
“I do not know. Those were there when I came here.”
“Bullshit,” Zak said as he picked up an army canteen. A blue officer’s uniform lay in a heap. Silver lieutenant’s bars gleamed from the shoulders of the tunic. A pair of cavalryman’s boots, shiny, with a patina of dust on them, spurs still attached, stood against the wall behind the pile of clothes.
“I do not know who left those clothes,” Felipe said.
“Do you know the name of the man who owns them?”
“No.”
“Maybe you know Lieutenant Ted O’Hara.”
“I do not know him,” Felipe said.
Zak had seen enough. He was sure that Ted O’Hara had been brought to this place. They had stripped him of his uniform, put civilian clothes on him, perhaps. Then they had taken him someplace else. A hostage, maybe? A bargaining chip? Or maybe to torture him for information about the location of Apache camps, knowledge they somehow knew he possessed.
“You want some advice, Felipe?”
“What advice?”
“When I tell the army about this place, they’re going to swarm all over you like a nest of hornets. If you’re smart, you’ll get on one of those horses out there and clear out.”
“I have done nothing.”
“I think you have. You’re lucky I’m in a hurry or I’d pack you off to Fort Bowie trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey.”
Felipe, wisely, said nothing. He held his breath and walked outside with Zak.
“You leave now?” Felipe said.
“I might be back. In any case, someone will. You’d better find another place to hang your hat, Felipe.”
Felipe stood in front of the door, speechless.
Zak knew his encounter with the man wasn’t over. He had given Felipe fair warning. The next move was up to him. Felipe could either let him ride off or he could try to stop him.
Either way, the writing had already been painted on the wall.
Zak started to walk back to his horse when he heard a sound, the whisper of metal sliding out of leather. He knew what it was. Felipe was drawing his pistol.
Zak spun around, went into a fighting crouch. His right hand streaked to the butt of his Walker Colt. His gaze fixed on Felipe’s eyes, not on his hand. But he could see, in the same range of vision, the barrel of Felipe’s pistol clearing leather, the snout rising like the rigid black body of a striking snake.
The Walker Colt seemed to spring into Zak’s hand. His thumb pressed down on the hammer, pushing it back into full cock as he leveled the barrel at the Mexican.
Felipe fired his pistol. Too soon. The bullet plowed a furrow at Zak’s feet as he squeezed the trigger of the Walker.
