were in focus on the rider coming toward them from the west. Renaldo Valdez saw him and turned his head, looking off in the same direction.
“Someone is coming,” Julio said.
“I see him. Who is it?”
“I do not know.”
Manuel Diego set down a rock he had dug up and turned to look.
“Maybe that is the man who killed your wife, Julio,” he said.
“Maybe,” Delgado said, his voice low and guttural.
A few of the buzzards landed some distance from the gravesite. They flexed their wings and marched to and fro like tattered generals surveying a battle-field. Their squawks scratched the air like chalk screeching on a blackboard.
“He does not ride fast,” Renaldo Valdez said. “He does not hurry.”
“No,” Delgado said. “He is without hurry on that black horse.”
“He wears black like the horse, eh?” Diego observed. “Maybe he is a messenger.”
“A messenger? Who would send a messenger out here from Tucson?” Delgado wiped tears from under his eyes, squinted again.
“Maybe there is trouble at the office of Ferguson,” Diego said. “Maybe it burned down.”
“You have the imagination of a chicken,” Valdez said.
“Why not?” Delgado said. “He has the brains of a chicken.”
Valdez laughed. Diego did not laugh.
Delgado stood up. He did not dust himself off, but continued to stare at the approaching rider. Valdez and Diego got to their feet as well, slowly, knives still gripped loosely in their hands.
“You there,” Delgado called to Cody, “what brings you this way?” He spoke in English.
“I have a message for you,” Cody said.
“See?” Diego said. “He has a message.
“You are full of the shit, Manuel,” Valdez said.
“Be quiet,” Delgado said.
Zak drew closer. “What message do you bring?” Delgado asked.
“I will tell you in a minute,” Zak said.
“Tell me now, mister. Do not come any closer. It is very dangerous here.”
Zak kept riding.
“Oh, yes, it is dangerous here,” he said. “Dangerous for you. Are you Delgado?”
“Yes, I am Julio Delgado. You have news for me?”
“If you are Julio Delgado, I do have news for you. And for your companions as well.”
Zak rode up to the three men and reined in Nox. He looked down at them. Delgado’s knife lay on the ground, but Valdez and Diego still clutched theirs, more tightly than before.
“And what is this news that is so important that you ride out all the way from Tucson?”
“I did not ride from Tucson,” Zak said. “I rode out of the night on this black horse. My message is this: If you and your companions will bury your dead and ride back to Tucson instead of catching up to Trask and Ferguson, you will live another day. Maybe many more days.”
Zak’s words hung there like black bunting in a funeral parlor. Delgado cleared his throat. Valdez and Diego looked at each other.
“He is loco,” Valdez said in Spanish.
“He said he rides out of the night? What does he mean?” Diego asked, also in Spanish.
“Why do you want us to go back to town?” Delgado said to Zak. “Are you going to kill us if we do not do this?”
“Yes, Delgado,” Zak said. “I’m going to kill you if you try and join up with Ben Trask. I am going to kill him, too.”
“Who are you?”
“I am Zak Cody.”
“You are the one they call the Shadow Rider?”
“Some call me that, yes.”
“I am not afraid of you, Cody. Did you kill my wife? A man told me that you did.”
“I killed your wife, Delgado. And I killed Chama, too.”
Delgado’s neck swelled up like a bull in the rut. His face purpled with rage. The blood drained from the faces of Valdez and Diego. They both looked as if someone had come up to them and kicked them in the nuts.
