“I have thought about it, Cody. End of the line for you. Sorry.”
“Any reason?”
Carmen spoke, to both men’s surprise.
“You killed his brother, Cody, you bastard.”
“That so?” Zak said, looking straight at Chama. “It’s news to me.”
“Felipe Lopez,” Chama said.
“He was your brother?”
“My half brother. We had the same mother. I loved him.”
“Like you, Chama, Felipe had a choice. To live or die.”
“I do not know how you did it. I know I found him dead, and your tracks.”
“So, you tracked me, and waited. Why now?”
“Because you will not get to Tucson alive. There is too much at stake. I want Hiram to win this one. The Apaches are our enemy.”
“You are not Apache,” Zak said.
Chama spat, his features crinkled in disgust.
“Filth,” he said.
“You have the Indian blood.”
“Not Apache. They killed my parents, held me and Felipe prisoner until we both became men and got away from them. I have the Comanche blood.”
Suddenly it all became clear. Zak understood. He had allowed himself to be duped. He had believed Chama’s story. But there had been no reason to doubt it. He took a man at his word until he proved out as a liar. Now Chama had proven out.
“I guess you got cause to hate, Chama,” Zak said.
“You are in the way, Cody, and you killed my brother. Now you will die.”
Zak looked at Carmen, then back to Chama.
“Two against one, I reckon.”
“Yes,” Chama said, and gone was the sleepiness, the fatigue. Carmen had brightened up, too, was licking her lips like a hungry cat.
These two meant to kill him, for sure, gun him down like a dog and leave him for wolf meat.
Still, Zak did not move. He knew he did not have to, just yet.
The hand had been dealt. And, in death, as in life, the hand had to be played out.
He was ready.
Fate would decide who had the better hand.
Zak knew that when it came to a showdown, most men often made a fatal mistake in that moment just before a gun was drawn or a trigger pulled.
And that gave him the advantage. Always.
Chapter 20
The eastern sky drained its blood, turned to ashes. Tiny mares’ tails began to etch the sky with Arabic scrawls of stormy portent. Zak did not look up at the wisps, but kept his gaze fastened on Chama and Carmen. A slight breeze began to rise, its fingers tousling Carmen’s hair as she stood there, her face a mask of defiance and determination.
“Tell me, Chama,” Zak said, “did you have anything to do with Lieutenant O’Hara’s capture? You carry yourself like a military man.”
“I was there, yes. I told Ben where the patrol would be and when the best time would be to take O’Hara prisoner.”
“You’re a deserter, then,” Zak said.
Chama shrugged. “I have done my time in the army. I was a sergeant. A good place for a spy like me, do you not think? That is finished. I go now to fight the Apache, to help Hiram and Ben wipe them out. To take their gold.”
Zak caught the boastful tone in Chama’s voice. Let him brag, he thought.
“The Chiricahua have no gold.”
“Cochise has gold. Much gold.”
Zak suppressed a laugh. This was far too serious for humor.
“That is an old wives’ tale. A lie,” Zak said. “Rather, it is a lie made by white men to turn the settlers against Cochise. He has no gold, beyond a few trinkets.”
