Dan Rodelo smiled at him. “Joe, you never could see much farther than your nose; but if you can’t, Tom Badger can. Sam Burrows, back there in the States, he knows this girl left with us. If she doesn’t show up, he’s going to ask questions.”
“What do I care? I ain’t never comin’ back.”
“Tom,” Rodelo said, “tell Joe about Kosterlitzky.”
“What about him?” Badger asked.
“Sam Burrows has two good friends in the world, Tom. Oh, he has many friends, but he has two almighty good friends, and one of them is Emilio Kosterlitzky, who commands the Rurales. I think you boys have heard of them?
“Well,” he went on, “if Sam suggested to Emilio that he would like to know what became of Nora Paxton, Emilio would find whoever traveled with her and he’d make them sweat a little and bleed a little and suffer a whole lot until they told. And if the news was bad news, Emilio would just naturally feel that he had to send something to Sam Burrows to show his friendship, something like scalps, for instance. I’m not saying he would literally collect your scalps, but what he would send back would be evidence enough.”
“You don’t scare me.”
“He does me,” Badger said. “That Kosterlitzky is pure hell.”
Neither of the men said any more, and they turned away.
There was dead mesquite near the water hole, and enough dry wood to make a small fire, sheltered from observation. The coffee tasted good, and they had the last of the jerked beef from Sam Burrows’ store.
Rodelo stayed back from the fire, eating in silence, listening for sounds from outside the basin. He had no confidence in their escape from the Indians. If by some luck they had evaded the Indians, it could not be for long. There would be a fight, sooner or later.
“We’d better graze the horses,” Badger suggested. “There’s mesquite outside the bowl.”
“I noticed some grass there,” Nora said.
The horses needed it. These past few days had been cruelly hard for both man and beast, but horses could not stand what a man could, and if there was any forage they should have it.
It was Joe Harbin who led them out and picketed them on the galleta grass near the mesquite. Rodelo was careful to be watching when he returned … he wanted no sudden shot, no advantage given to Harbin, who needed none.
Now that the last hours were coming, Rodelo had no plan. He could only go ahead, let them do what they might. One thing he did know, he was not going to allow that gold to be taken away from him.
His thoughts went to Nora. Was there more in that box than she admitted? Treasure, perhaps? It was unlikely, and no matter how absurd her reasons might seem to others, he could understand them. In these days a girl with no family, no background, no money had little chance. Work that decent women could do was strictly limited by custom; but everywhere women were asked who they were, from what family they came, what was their background.
The West did not ask questions of its men, but it still wanted to know about its women.
Aside from that, what meant so much to Nora was just the knowing. He had been through it himself, and he still bore the scars of not knowing anything of his family. She had courage, this girl did. How many women would have dared the desert in the company of such men as these?
As he looked to the west, he saw far off a blue line of mountains in Baja California, across the Gulf. The sun was setting beyond them now, and was leaving a painted sky behind. Coolness was coming to the desert. Rodelo leaned back against the rock wall, half propped up by his saddle. He was tired … tired.
He wanted another cup of coffee, but lacked the energy to get up and get it. For several minutes he sat looking at the pot and measuring his weariness against the desire for the coffee. Then the realization that it might help on the following day, when every drop of moisture would count, won the argument.
He leaned forward to get up and the bullet smashed into the rock where his head had been, spattering him with stinging rock fragments. He threw himself to the ground, drawing as he went down, and in that split second he glimpsed the face of an Indian. He fired … missed … the face vanished.
With a lunge, he was across the basin and scrambling around the rocks. He heard the Indian yelling, trying to stampede the horses. For a moment then, he caught sight of him, and fired again.
The light was vague, and the Indian was sixty feet off, but the bullet caught him in the top of the head, killing him instantly.
A voice spoke at his elbow. “Now that’s what I call shootin’,” Badger said. “I didn’t figure you were that good.”
“Lucky,” Harbin said. “A scratch shot.”
“You’ve got to buy chips to find out, Joe,” Dan said quietly. “You’ve got to stack your bet.”
Harbin also had his gun in his hand. “When I’m ready,” he said, “you’ll draw to a busted flush. And you’ll get three aces … right through the belly.”
“Forget it,” Badger said shortly. “What about this Injun?”
“We’d better round up the horses first,” Rodelo said.
“Don’t worry about them,” said Badger. “In the shape they’re in and the way they’re feelin’, they won’t go far. Not while there’s water in this hole.”
He went on, “I figure this Injun was a scout who located us. He aimed to set us afoot and make the rest of it easy whilst he sent up a smoke to bring the others around.”
“Now that’s a thought,” Dan said.
“You mean to send up a smoke?”
“Sure … from where we aren’t. Like that notch over there.”
“If it works,” Harbin agreed, “we could gain five or ten miles on them. We might get off scot-free.” He hesitated. “Who sends up the smoke?”
“And why that notch?” Badger asked. “Why should they expect us to be over there?”
“That’s the best trail to the coast. If they see a smoke go up from there they’ll believe it.”
“I like it,” Badger acknowledged. “It might work.”
“Okay, Tom,” Harbin said. “You like it so much, you ride over and send up the smoke.”
“And meet those Indians all by myself?”
“You scared?”
“You bet I am. I want no part of those boys. They’re not like my kind of Indians. I’m as scared of them as you are.”
“I’ll go,” Rodelo said evenly.
“Then you’d better get started.” Joe Harbin gave him a taunting smile. “Those Injuns will be expectin’ that signal.”
Rodelo walked to the grulla, led it into the basin, and saddled up. As he tightened the cinch he was thinking of the situation. It had to resolve itself quickly now. The beach was just over there across the dunes, and he did not want to precipitate a gun battle if he could help it. But when he told them he was taking the gold back, all hell would break loose … unless they risked shooting him first.
Nora Paxton came close to him. “Don’t go, Dan.”
“Someone has to.”
“Why not Tom or Joe?”
“With all that gold at stake they won’t risk turning their backs on each other. This is a last man’s club, Nora, and I have to be the last man.”
“Why, Dan? Is the money so important to you?”
“Yes, it is. Right now I’d say that money means more to me than anything else in the world.”
“More than I do?”
He looked down at her. “Yes, Nora, right now it means more than you do. If it did not mean so much, you could not mean so much to me. It is a matter of honor.”
She drew back from him. “Pride, maybe—not honor. Well, that shows me where I stand.” She turned away sharply and walked off.
“Nora!”
She ignored him, and went to the fire. For a moment he stood staring after her, wanting to say more, yet afraid to show his hand, afraid of being overheard. Harbin was already suspicious, and as for Tom Badger, a man never knew about Badger. He played his cards close to his vest and nobody ever knew what he was holding.
Rodelo led his horse to the trail out of the basin. Joe Harbin followed after him, then Badger. Nora remained where she was, beside the fire.
“Where do you figure we should go from here?” Badger asked.
“West. Keep the Sierra Blanca on your left, and when you pass the point of that range, stay half a mile or so north of it. As you ride west, keep yourself lined up on the gap between Pinacate and the Sierra Blanca, and the coast you reach will be on Adair Bay.”