Bowen nodded. “I’d crack you ten for every one time you hit her.”
Then, close behind him, not expecting it, the screen door swung open. As he heard it, Bowen moved aside, almost glancing back, but at the same moment, seeing the look of shocked surprise come over Renda’s face, he knew it was Willis Falvey, just as he knew, suddenly feeling more sure of himself, that Falvey had been listening all the time. Still watching Renda, he thought: If he moves hit him in the leg. He glanced quickly to the side then. Falvey was staring up at Renda, Lizann’s.25-caliber Colt in his hand.
“Frank…you put your filthy hands on my wife?”
Renda shifted his weight in the saddle. “Willis, I didn’t know you were here.”
“Answer me!”
“Listen, Willis. I’m sorry that had to happen. It was Lizann’s own fault. She didn’t have to get hit but she wouldn’t tell me-” He stopped. “Willis, she was planning to leave you. You realize that?”
“Frank,” Falvey said tonelessly. “When you’re through talking I’m going to kill you.”
“Use your head! She’s going to leave you anyway. She don’t care a damn about you.”
Bowen glanced at Falvey. “Killing him isn’t the way. Testify against him in court. He didn’t just beat up your wife-men died in that place because of him, men like Chick Miller. You’ll see him dead-but let a jury take care of it!”
“I’ll testify,” Falvey said. “But Frank won’t be there to hear it.”
“So you shoot him and they hang you. You think it’s worth it?”
“I’d as soon that happen as go to prison,” Falvey answered. “You’re wasting your breath.”
Renda moved uneasily in the saddle, his hands gripping the shotgun. “Willis-listen to him-he’s talking sense!”
Falvey stared. “Are you through?”
“Man, stop and think for a minute!”
“You’re through,” Falvey murmured.
He brought up the revolver, leveling it at Renda’s chest, thumbing back the hammer. It was in his mind to kill Renda and there was no persuading him otherwise-but as he pulled the trigger, Bowen slammed against him. The revolver fired wide as both of them went down, and with the report Renda was reining hard to the right, kicking the chestnut; he fired from his lap as the big mare wheeled, but the shot was hurried and ripped high through the screen door.
Falvey was up as the mare broke into a gallop angling to the left of the corral. He fired once, then again. Bowen was on one knee as he saw Renda twist in the saddle and point the shotgun back with one hand.
“Go down!”
But he called too late. Renda’s second barrel exploded. He saw Falvey spin sideways as the buckshot hailed against the adobe, chipping a powdery cloud, and Falvey went down, dropping the revolver and suddenly clutching his left hip.
Then Demery was outside, lifting Falvey, holding open the shot-out screen door with his foot and dragging Falvey into the kitchen. He snapped at Bowen, glancing off at Renda, “Get him-what’s the matter with you!”
“Watch,” Bowen said, coming to his feet. His eyes were narrowed, his gaze following Renda as he reached the far side of the corral and rode on toward the pine-covered slope beyond.
Demery came out again. “You let him get away!”
“Watch,” Bowen said again. And as their eyes followed the chestnut moving across the meadow, streaking for the dark expanse of trees, they saw it veer sharply to the right. A single file of riders had suddenly appeared, coming down out of the trees.
Renda circled, waving his shotgun in the air and the riders, the Mimbres, came after him. As he continued the wide circle, gradually coming back to the yard, another file of Mimbres rode out of the trees approximately two hundred yards farther to the right, joining the first group now and spreading out behind Renda who glanced back at them, waving them on with the shotgun, then began to rein in as he neared the corral again.
“They’re backing him!” Demery hissed.
“Wait and see,” Bowen said, not taking his eyes from Renda. Then asked, “Where’s Karla?”
“Inside,” Demery murmured. “Looking after Willis. She circled around and came in the front. Stood there biting her nails through the whole thing…like to got hit when Frank ripped up the door.”
“What about Willis?”
“His side’s scraped is all.”
“Was he listening…before?”
“Hanging on every word you said…like courage being poured into him.” Demery watched Renda wave the Mimbres past him. “Listen, you can’t just stand there!”
Bowen said nothing, watching four of the Mimbres circle the corral to come in on the left side. The others-he counted six-Salvaje one of them, rode past Renda. They entered the yard, moving past the corral and spread out in an uneven line as they came to a halt.
Now, Bowen thought; and walked out toward them. He was halfway across the yard when Renda came through the line of Mimbres and reined in a few yards in front of them. Bowen continued toward him until less than fifteen feet separated them.
“That’s far enough,” Renda called. “Now drop the shooter.”
Bowen held the Colt at his side, pointed at the ground. “It won’t do you any good.”
“Drop it!”
Bowen let it fall from his fingers.
“Now kick it out of the way.”
With the side of his foot, Bowen pushed the Colt away from him.
“The deal’s off.” Renda grinned. He was relaxed and confident now and looked at Bowen with open amusement. “Give me the letter.”
“It wouldn’t do you any good even if there was one,” Bowen said. “Since Willis is going to speak up against you.”
Renda’s eyes narrowed. “He’s still alive?”
“You just scraped his hip.”
“Well, I’ll have a talk with Willis,” Renda said easily. “I’ve found Willis an agreeable boy if you talk to him right.” His tone changed as he snapped, “Now give me the letter!”
Bowen brought the folded envelope from his pocket. He moved close to the chestnut’s right shoulder, handed the envelope to Renda and stepped back again.
Renda glanced at it, saw Demery’s address and looked at Bowen again. “You just pulled twenty more days in the punishment cell.”
Bowen said nothing.
Renda’s gaze raised to the adobe. Demery was still at the door. “John, where’s that letter your girl brought?”
Demery shook his head holding his palms up.
“I’m warning you, John-”
“He doesn’t have it,” Bowen said. “Nobody does.”
“I can burn down the house if that’s what he wants.”
“There never was a letter, Frank. Lizann made it up to get rid of you. But you happened to see Karla and you believed her.”
“If there’s no letter,” Renda said, “then why’d you try to make a deal? You think I’d have let you go without even looking at it?”
“That was leading up to something else,” Bowen said. “I wasn’t going anywhere.”
“You sure as hell weren’t.”
“I didn’t know how I was going to use the letter at first,” Bowen said. “I just had it as an extra card. Then, somewhere along the line, it steered us to Willis.”
“I’m not going to ask you again.”
“Check with your men in the canyon then! They saw Karla go by after you left for the camp. Karla didn’t even drop off the mail she had, much less pick any up.”
Renda looked past Bowen toward the adobe. “We’ll see.”
Bowen shook his head. “You’re not going in there.”
“Who’s going to stop me?”
“Frank, you’ve got a surprise coming.”
“I’m getting awful sick of you,” Renda said slowly.
“But you’re not going in,” Bowen said. “Not with Willis there.”
For a moment Renda was silent. “Corey…I think I’ve had just about all I can take of you.” His right hand went into his coat pocket and brought out a shell for the shotgun. He broke open the gun, still watching Bowen, and carefully inserted the shell into the right chamber.