‘Sure as shit smells bad,’ said Tyree. ‘He was wavin’ that shield around so busy he couldn’t fire his gun straight. He got killed with the first volley. From what little got left, I reckon he was the one causin’ the trouble. A bronco called Knife-With-Two-Sides. You know him?’

‘No.’ Azul spoke for them both. ‘Never heard of him.’

‘Pity.’ Tyree looked at the half-breed. ‘I was hopin’ you might. There was only one hostile got away. Looked like an old man. All hair an’ beads an’ skulls.’

Azul shook his head. ‘Don’t sound like anyone I know.’

‘Nor me,’ added Backenhauser. ‘We just rode out from Placeros. Where are you headed?’

‘There,’ said Tyree. ‘The hostiles been causin’ trouble on the stage route, so now I gotta patrol the line.’

‘That’s hard work,’ said the Englishman. ‘You got my sympathy.’

‘Yeah,’ said Azul. ‘Good luck.’

‘Thanks.’

Tyree brushed his hand against the brim of his hat and motioned his squadron forwards.

‘Thanks a lot.’

Azul and Backenhauser sat their horses until the troop was gone away into the dusty distance of the wide spread of Paradise Valley. Then the half-breed heeled the gray stallion forwards, the movement drawing the tan stage horse in pursuit.

‘Why didn’t you tell them?’ asked the Englishman. ‘Why not tell them where those Indians were hidden?’

‘Close your mouth,’ said Azul. ‘Keep it closed.’

‘Why?’ Backenhauser asked. ‘Maybe you could get your money back.’

‘The money doesn’t matter,’ rasped Azul. ‘Knife was killed. That’s what matters.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said the Englishman. ‘You were ready to fight him. To kill him.’

‘That was different,’ said the half-breed. ‘I’m part Chiricahua, so that would have been a fair fight.’

‘I still don’t understand,’ said Backenhauser. ‘Why not?’

‘He got killed by the Cavalry,’ rasped Azul. ‘Just like all the other Indians the white people have slaughtered. I don’t have to like that.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said the artist. ‘He’d have killed you if he could.’

‘Mimbreño and Chiricahua.’ Azul laughed; cynically. ‘Sometimes we fight, but over the same things. Not over land.’

‘They raided the stage,’ said Backenhauser. ‘Isn’t that the same?’

‘No,’ Azul shook his head. ‘It’s not.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said the Englishman.

‘I don’t think you can,’ said the half-breed. ‘Let’s go to Lordsburg.’

He urged the gray stallion on without waiting for an answer.

Lordsburg was a tight cluster of buildings spread out around the Tucson road. The prairie sloped down towards the settlement, affording the two horsemen a clear view of the size and lay-out of the town. It was larger than both San Jacinto and Placeros, a busy commercial center for the ranches and mines located over the surrounding country. The main hub of activity was centered on the single broad street. There were five saloons and one hotel – the only building standing taller than a single story – spaced out along the roadway; two eating houses, and a collection of stores ranging from a hardware emporium through an undertaker’s parlor to a milliner’s. On the south side, set back from the main street, was a sprawl of shacks with red lanterns hung outside in cheerful advertisement of the occupants’ profession. The town was noisy and brightly-lit in the dusk of early evening.

Azul rode in slowly, eyes shifting from side-to-side as he scanned the street for signs of danger.

Behind him, Backenhauser stared in open-eyed delight at the signs of civilization.

The half-breed located the stage depot and dismounted. Inside the office a dark-haired man was checking a schedule, looking bored. He did his best to look efficient and welcoming as the two men walked in.

‘Gents.’ He ducked his brilliantined head. ‘What can I do fer you?’

‘Got one of your horses outside,’ said Azul. ‘Came from the Placeros stage.’

‘That was wiped out.’ The dark-haired man frowned his bewilderment. ‘Apaches killed everyone on board.’

‘Not me,’ Backenhauser corrected. ‘I got away when the horses ran loose.’

‘My God!’ The man stared at the artist. ‘We thought everyone was killed.’

‘No.’ Backenhauser shook his head. ‘I escaped and then Mr. Gunn here found me and brought me into Lordsburg.’

It was the story they had agreed on during the long ride through Paradise Valley. It was simpler than trying to explain the truth … and possibly safer for them both.

‘What happened?’ asked the depot manager.

Backenhauser explained, lying, that he had been thrown clear of the stage and found shelter in a patch of mesquite until a runaway horse came by, which he had taken. Then he had ridden away, wandering around without much idea of where he was headed until Azul found him.

The depot manager shook his head and said, ‘You gotta be one of the luckiest men I ever met. I’d be honored if I could buy you both a bottle by way of reward.’

‘What for?’ grunted Azul. ‘Staying alive?’

‘For bringing the horse in,’ grinned the young man. ‘Lotta folks would have kept the animal.’

‘We’re honest,’ said Backenhauser; sternly.

‘Wouldn’t do to lie about things,’ added Azul.

The artist’s gear was loaded on Azul’s horse, so they led the stage pony round to the corral and the half-breed accepted the manager’s offer of a free stable. Backenhauser decided to go on to Tucson and bought a ticket on the stage leaving the next morning. Then they allowed the manager to find them rooms in the hotel and went with him to a saloon called The Golden Slipper.

His name was Cutter Sutcliffe and he was new to his job. He was not far past twenty, and had held the Lordsburg post for only three months. He bought a bottle of good whiskey and then insisted on paying for a meal. He took them to a Chinese restaurant, where one course followed another in a bewildering succession of curiously-named dishes that were washed down with the rice wine called saki.

By the time they had finished both Azul and Backenhauser were feeling the effects of the liquor, though in different ways. The Englishman was relaxed; livening up and eager to continue the night. The half-breed was remembering his drinking bout back in San Jacinto. So when Sutcliffe suggested they go back to The Golden Slipper and then try the pleasures of the red-lit shacks behind main street, he shook his head.

‘Come on,’ grinned Backenhauser. ‘We come a long way together and I’m leaving in the morning. Let’s go have some fun.’

‘I can promise that,’ urged Sutcliffe, filling their glasses. ‘There’s a Mex girl at Rosa’s place can blow your brains out.’