‘Seems like you come from the badlands.’
‘That’s right,’ said Azul. ‘Now we want to get as far away as we can.’
‘Why’s that?’ asked Tyree; pleasantly.
‘Don’t seem like a good place to stop,’ said the half-breed. ‘So we’re heading for Lordsburg.’
Tyree nodded, then lifted his hat clear of his face and wiped his sleeve across his forehead.
‘Sure isn’t. We just run into a bunch of hostiles. Craziest thing a man ever done see. There was one feller out in front wavin’ a shield an’ firing a Winchester he musta took off a dead man. Had his own face painted on the shield.’
‘What happened to him?’ asked Backenhauser.
Tyree grinned and set his hat back on his head. Azul noticed that there was a small feather tucked into the band: the kind his father had told him the rebel cavalry wore during the fight between the States.
‘Come straight at us,’ said Tyree. ‘Head-on, with his Winchester pumpin’ shots like a steam engine puffin’ wind. Kept that goddam shield up in front like he thought it could hold off bullets. We shot him down.’
‘He got killed then?’ said Backenhauser.
‘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.
