“Frank won’t accept this lawyer thing. He’ll think up an excuse to shoot you.”
“I’ll take a chance.”
“What about the Mimbres?”
“Damn-everything at once.”
“You got a lot to think about.”
“But you take the important one first, don’t you?”
“That’s what they say.”
“And that’s Earl. Earl’s not leaving either.”
As Bowen said this, he heard the back screen door slam and he stepped around the end of the bar to be facing the doorway. Lizann’s revolver was in front of him on the bar. Manring’s steps sounded from the kitchen, then he was in the doorway, standing hip-cocked and wearing Willis Falvey’s Colt.
“You coming?”
“We’re not going anywhere, Earl.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Get to it, Bowen thought, and he said, “Your friend Avery made a statement.”
Manring straightened slowly, letting his hands slide from his hips. “Are you talking to me?”
“You know I am.”
“I don’t know any Avery. Avery what?”
“You’ll meet him again at the trial.”
“Somebody’s been fooling you, boy.” Manring’s eyes went to Demery. “What’s he been making up?”
Bowen raised his elbows to the bar. “Unstrap the gun, Earl, and we won’t have to talk so much.”
“What’s he been telling you?”
“I already said it. Avery made a statement and there’s going to be a new trial. You’re going to be there to tell it in your own words.”
Manring shook his head. “Corey, a man can talk you into just about anything, can’t he?”
“I guess he can.”
“A real honest-to-God do-gooder.”
“You better start unbuckling the belt.”
“Corey, don’t you see what he’s done?” Manring shook his head again and a faint smile showed in his beard. “He’s made up that story to stall us. He figured how to get to you right away and made up this story about a new trial. We already had one. They don’t try a man twice. Don’t you know that? A man can’t be tried twice for the same crime. That’s a law.”
Demery said, “There’s a pile of poor reasoning going on in this room.”
Manring’s hands moved to his hips again as he glanced at Demery. “If I was in your shoes I’d quit pushing it.”
Watch him, Bowen thought. Every move. Briefly his eyes dropped to the revolver on the bar. Looking up again, its position was in his mind and he knew where his hand would go if it had to.
“Corey,” Manring said. “There’s a reward for helping bring back escaped convicts. That’s what the old man is thinking about. It’s worth making up a story for.”
“Earl, why didn’t you tell at the trial I was innocent?”
“I did! We both were.”
“You know what I mean.”
Manring shook his head wearily. “If you’re going to keep talking like that, I’m going on by myself.”
“You’re not going anywhere.”
Manring paused, staring at Bowen. “I’m walking out, Corey. If you want to stop me, you’ll have to shoot me in the back.”
Bowen said nothing.
“Corey, I don’t have any fight against you. Even right now.” Manring’s voice was quiet and seemed edged with disappointment. “But I can’t stand here and listen to any more. If you want to stay, all right. Then we’ll part company right now.”
His eyes dropped and he turned to walk through the doorway, but he stopped in the middle of his stride with the unmistakable sound of a hammer being cocked-a thin, metallic click, and after that, silence.
Facing the doorway, Manring didn’t move. Then, slowly, in the silence, he seemed to relax and he said, “All right, Corey.” He turned carefully, then shook his head seeing the revolver leveled at him. “Now what’re you doing that for?” He started toward Bowen. “Put the gun down, Corey. We’ll talk it over-get everything out in the open.”
“Unfasten the gun belt,” Bowen said. “Let it drop.”
Manring came on. Reaching the bar, he said, “For a minute there, Corey, you scared hell out of me. I almost thought you were going to shoot.” His left hand brought the whiskey bottle toward him and he glanced at Bowen. “You want one?”
Bowen shook his head. His hand on the bottle-he was thinking it, expecting what was to happen, the next moment going to his left away from the end of the bar as Manring’s hand suddenly swept the whiskey bottle at him. With the sound of it smashing against the wall, Manring’s hand was drawing the Colt, clearing it from the holster as he pushed himself away from the bar, seeing Bowen with a hand and a knee on the floor, and at that moment Bowen fired. It was over as suddenly as it had started.
Manring dropped the Colt as he went down and rolled to his side, his hands clutched tightly to his right thigh.
Demery moved toward him, glancing at Bowen. “You’re low today.”
Bowen nodded. “I don’t want Earl to miss the trial on my account.”
They carried Manring into Demery’s bedroom and placed him on the bed. Bowen moved to the doorway in line with the front windows and stood there as Demery bound Manring’s leg to stop the bleeding.
“He’s lucky,” Demery said. “A bigger gun would’ve busted it.”
“What about moving him?” Bowen said. “Can he travel?”
“I don’t see why not,” Demery said. “I’ll take you to Fuegos in the wagon. Let the doctor look at him, then board the stage. We’ll give Earl a stick to bite on for the bumps.”
Bowen moved closer to the bed. “You hear that, Earl? You’re going to trial.”
Manring stared at the ceiling and said nothing.
“Earl, why didn’t you tell them I was innocent?”
Manring looked at him then. “You must be awful lucky to get by as dumb as you are.”
“You didn’t gain by it,” Bowen said. “Once you were sentenced, why didn’t you explain how it was?”
“What’s the difference?” Manring said. “You’d still be here.”
“Is that the only reason-because they wouldn’t believe you even if you told?”
“There’s a real dumb do-gooder for you,” Manring said. His expression changed to anger. “You forget that night before the trial!”
Puzzled, Bowen said, “In the jail cell?”
“In the cell-when you tried to beat my head in!”
“You let me get sent to Yuma for that?”
“Listen to him,” Manring said. “You got what you drawed, boy. Thinking you’re so damn better than anybody else-dumb as you are-you deserved to get sent away.”
“Earl, that doesn’t make sense.”
“Well, think about it a while. In your case it takes longer to sink in.”
Demery said, “I’d have aimed higher, Corey. About two feet up and a little to the left.”
Manring glared at him. “You and your mouth can go to hell.”
Bowen turned as Falvey appeared in the doorway. “Somebody’s coming,” Falvey said, and as he did they could hear hoofbeats in the yard.
Bowen moved past him, going to a front window. He saw her then, already dismounting, and heard Demery say, “It’s Karla,” going out the door, the screen slamming behind him. Through the window he saw Karla running to her father. She was telling him something, but he could hear only a few of her words: Renda…and Lizann Falvey…and Mimbres. Something about Mimbres.
He could hear their steps, the screen door opening and Karla’s voice clearly now, though she was out of breath and spoke hurriedly-
“They’re up on the hill-at least five or six, but I’m not sure because I came on them unexpectedly. They were all dismounted and I recognized the head one. He was there. The one who wears the hat-”
She saw Bowen then.
From the pines that crested the hill, Salvaje watched Karla Demery ride into the willows, saw her come out the other side and continue on at the same running pace across the yard. As she dismounted, a man came out of the adobe and she went to him.