Dave Spanyer and Lennie were riding into the yard as he crossed to the store, and he saw the girl look at his broad, powerfully muscled shoulders, and then at his eyes.
He went into the store and selected a dark red shirt with pearl buttons from the stock, and slipped it on. When he came out again, Spanyer was taking the horses to the corral.
Spanyer came up on the porch with Lennie, who carefully kept her eyes averted from Considine. She was, he admitted again, quite a girl. And the fact that her blouse was a bit too small for her did nothing to conceal the fact. “Where’s Honey?” Spanyer demanded.
“Gone to Obaro.”
They went inside, and after a moment Considine followed. The Kiowa was balancing a knife in the palm of his hand, and as they entered he suddenly caught it by the tip and flipped it into the calendar across the room. It stuck there, and quivered.
It was June, 1881.
CHAPTER IV
It was still and hot. Outside a road runner appeared and darted along the road, slowed, flipping its tail up and down, then ran off a little farther. A mockingbird sang in a cottonwood tree back of the store. A blackboard went by on the trail, flanked by two riders, but it did not stop, making fast time along the road to Obaro.
“Never figured you to have a family, Dave,” Dutch said, glancing at Lennie, “and she’s no youngster, either.”
“She’s been to school in Texas,” Spanyer replied proudly. “More than you and me can say.”
“You should find a place and roost, Dave. This is no time to be traveling—not with a girl along.”
“We’ll make it.” Then irritably, he added, “I figured on going into Obaro, but now I dasn’t … they might figure I was riding with you boys and I’d be on the run again.”
“Sorry.”
Considine went outside again, and Lennie watched him go, nettled that he had made no attempt to talk to her. She was very curious about him … he was so quiet, and sort of stern.
Spanyer looked after him. “Is he as good as they say?” Dutch nodded. “Better … he’s as good as any of them ever were, Dave, and you know I’ve seen them all—Courtright, Allison, Hardin, Hickok, Stoudenmire, Pink Higgins, all of them.”
“Then why doesn’t he ride into Obaro and shoot it out with Runyon?” “He could beat Runyon with guns and they both know it, but he wants to whip him with his hands because that’s the way they’ve always fought.” “He’s crazy … plumb crazy.”
“They used to ride together. They were saddle partners.”
Spanyer shrugged. “Hell, man, that’s different.” Considine stood alone near the corral. What was the matter with him? He could not recall feeling this way before, and it irritated him. There was a nameless restlessness on him, something for which he could not account. Was it because he was so close to Obaro? Was it because Mary was not far away?
Or was there something else in him which he did not know? Recent rains promised water in the tinajas, the natural tanks in the rocks along the trail they would follow into Mexico. Honey Chavez would arrange for the horses to be waiting for them in the box canyon, and they could make the switch there and have a good running start. Long ago he had scouted that country in company with a Papago who knew the desert wells and the tinajas, and Considine had mapped those places in his mind.
Due south of the box canyon there were tinajas that should contain just enough water for their horses and themselves, and their visit would empty them; from there on a posse pursuing them would be waterless. But every mile would be alive with danger, for the Indians would be on the move. However, leaving the chance of Indians out of it, the plan for the getaway was as close to fool-proof as any such plan could be. He went over it again, considering every aspect. It was simple, and that was what he liked best of all. There was nothing that could go wrong. Chavez would have the horses there—he would personally see that he did—and if the escape from town was clean, the rest should work like a charm. The problem of the town remained. Unless they could draw all the people away from the main street there would be small chance, for armed strangers riding into Obaro would arouse immediate suspicion. But he had an idea how he would manage that.
Honey Chavez should be back soon, and knowing Honey, Considine was sure he would have all the information they needed, for Chavez had long since proved himself an expert at this sort of thing.
Considine’s thoughts reverted to Mary. She had chosen wisely, even though he had hated her at the time. Pete had settled down. He was sheriff, but he was running a few cattle, too, and was becoming a man of some importance in Obaro and the surrounding country.
Mary was a tall, pale girl. She was blonde, she was intelligent, and she was lovely, yet somehow he had difficulty in remembering just what she looked like. He told himself that was nonsense, but the fact remained that his recollection of her was no longer distinct. Had he really been in love with her? Or was it merely that his pride was hurt that she jilted him for his friend? Folks said time was a healer, but time was also a thief. It robbed a man of years, and robbed him of memories. This would be his last ride in the night, his last run for the border. He was going to have that Mexican ranch; the others could do as they wished.
The wind skittered dried leaves along the ground, and he looked up quickly. There was a faint coolness ‘on the wind … back in the hills there was a rumble of thunder.
Honey Chavez rode in an hour later when the sun had dropped below the horizon. Considine walked out to meet him, and took the heavy sack from his hands. Honey swung down and turned his back to the horse.
“Apaches killed two men and burned a place over east.” He glanced toward the store. “Who’s that inside?”
“Dave Spanyer and his daughter.”
“Spanyer?” Chavez looked at him quickly. “Is he with you?”
“He’s quit. He’s headed for California with his daughter.”
“This here is no time to travel with a female.”
“Well,” Considine said sharply, “what about it?” “The mine has a pay roll at the bank—thirty thousand. There will be twice that much, all told.”
Thunder rolled, and a gust of wind whipped dust into a cloud. There was a brief spatter of rain, and both men started for the bam with the Chavez horse. “To go into town well need four horses that nobody knows. We’ll leave our own in the box canyon, and when we get to them well turn yours loose.” “Sounds all right.” Chavez stripped the saddle from his horse and placed it astride a sawhorse in an empty stall. “I saw Runyon. He looks fit.” Leave it to Pete. He knew Considine would be coming back some day and knew they would settle it with their fists, so he was ready. Pete had always been ready, when it came to that Considine remembered the time his own horse lost its footing on a narrow mountain trail and started over the edge. Pete Runyon’s rope had come out of nowhere and dropped over his shoulders just as he was going past the edge. It had been a quick bit of business.
Runyon had saved his life on other occasions, too, and Considine had done as much for him. It was nothing they ever talked about, except in joking, for it was all in the day’s work, and was accepted as such. He could hear the soft laughter of Lennie Spanyer inside the store. She was talking to somebody—Hardy, probably. For a moment he felt a flash of jealousy, and it surprised him. He had not thought that seriously of any girl since Mary … not to say there had been no other girls. There had been a good many, most of them below the border, but he had been careful not to grow too concerned. Rain came suddenly, and it came hard. The two men ran for the store and stopped on the porch, listening to the roar of the rain on the roof. It was a regular old-time gully-washer. This might complicate things a little if the rain lasted long enough to leave water along the trails.
From the dry earth there arose that strange odor he knew so well, that peculiar smell of long-parched earth when first touched by rain. On the porch the two stood together, and after a minute Chavez said, “The stuff is there, all right, no question about it. When I went to the bank they were counting the gold into sacks.”