But how did you find people who did not leave a trail? Even the cold camps they did find were there to misdirect and throw them off the track. Sundeen's men began to spit and growl and Sundeen himself became more abusive in his speech, less confident in his air.
They had burned a field of new corn when one of Sundeen's tail-end riders was shot out of his saddle. The next day it happened again. One rifle shot, one dead.
Sundeen came to a Mexican goat farm early in the morning, tore through the house and barn, flushed assorted women and kids, ah!, and three grown men that brought a squinty light to Sundeen's eyes. He tried to question them in his Sonora-whorehouse Spanish-no doubt missing his old segundo-and even hit them some with leather gloves on, drawing blood. Where's Moon? No answer. Smack, he'd throw a fist into that impassive dark face and the man would be knocked to the ground. The women and children cried and carried on, but the three men never said a word. Sundeen tied their hands behind them and loaded them into that two-wheel cart with a mule to pull it and had them lead his column when he moved on.
But then, you see, he didn't draw any sniper fire and that seemed to aggravate him more than having his men picked off.
Soon after taking the hostages they woke up in the morning to find half their horses gone, disappeared from the picket rope. Sundeen sent riders to Sweetmary for a new string. They came back to report the story of the survey crew being hit.
It was in a high meadow facing a timbered slope and a little shack perched up in the rocks above that Sundeen, all of a sudden, reached the end of his skimpy patience. It was no doubt seeing the smoke coming out of the stovepipe. Somebody was up there, a quarter of a mile away. And he was sure they were in the timber also, in the deep pine shadows. There was not a sound when he began to yell.
“Moon! Come on out!…You and your boogers, Moon!…Let's get it done!”
His words echoed out there and faded to nothing.
Sundeen pulled the three Mexicans from the cart and told them to move out in the meadow, keep going, then yelled for them to stop when they were about forty yards off. They stood in the sun bareheaded, looking up at the timber and turning to look back at Sundeen who brought all his riders up along the edge of the meadow, spread out in a line.
He yelled now, “You see it, Moon?…Show yourself or we'll blow out their lights!”
Nothing moved in the pines. The only sound, a low moan of wind coming off the escarpment above.
The three men, bareheaded and in white, hands tied behind them, didn't know which way to face, to look at the silent trees or at the rifles pointed at them now.
“I've given him enough warning,” Sundeen said. “He's heard it, isn't that right? If he's got ears he heard it.” If he's up there, somebody said. “He's up there, I know he is,” Sundeen said. “Man's been watching us ten days, scared to come out. All right, I give him a chance, haven't I?” He looked up and yelled out once more, “Moon?” Waited a moment and said, “Shit…go ahead, fire.”
“And they killed them?”
Maurice nodded.
“But if he knew you were a witness-”
“He'd forgotten I was along by then, other things on his mind.”
Bill Wells was thoughtful, then asked, “Was Moon up there, in the trees?”
“Somebody was. Shots were fired and Sundeen divided his men to come at the timber from two sides. That was when Gean was shot.”
“And you were considering you might keep it a secret?”
“I wasn't sure how I felt. I mean I've never handled anything like this before,” Maurice said. “Though I know we're sworn to print the truth, letting the chips fall where they may.”
“Or stack the chips against the company's hand,” Bill Wells said, the idea bringing a smile. “Yes, I can see Vandozen squirming and sweating now.”
1
There was a framed slate in the Gold Dollar, back of the bar, that gave the betting odds on a Sundeen-Moon showdown:
2-1 one week
5-1 four days
10-1 two days
It meant you could bet one dollar to win two if you thought Sundeen would track down Moon and bring him in dead or alive within one week. The house was betting against it ever happening. When a week passed and Sundeen hadn't returned, you lost your dollar. For shorter periods you could bet the higher odds that were posted.
When Sundeen returned a few days ago with four men face-down over their saddles and the rest of his troop worn raw and ugly, they erased the old odds and wrote on the slate:
4-1 one week
10-1 four days
20-1 two days
100-1 one day
A miner at the bar, who had not seen the new odds before, said, “I'd hide that thing I was you. Case he comes in here.”
“Who, Mr. Sundeen?” said Ed O'Day, who ran the Gold Dollar and sometimes served behind the bar. “He wants to bet on himself we'd be glad to cover it. Or, he wants to bet against himself I'm sure there some takers. Making a wager isn't anything personal. The man is not gonna bet against himself and take a dive, is he? No, not in this kinda contest. So, he thinks he's gonna come out the victor, let him put up his money.”
Ed O'Day was a known high-roller; he ran faro, monte and poker tables in the back of his place and would bet either side of an issue depending on the odds.
Bren Early stepped toward them, moving his elbow along the polished edge of the bar. He said, “You're betting against him finding Moon is all you're doing.”
“Mr.Early, how are you? Sorry I didn't see you there. The usual?”
Bren nodded. The slight-not being noticed immediately-was as much an insult to him as the odds board: putting Sundeen against Moon and ignoring him completely. Bren had a hard knot inside his stomach. He wanted to cut this barkeeper down, level him with a quiet remark that had an eternal ring. (Something to do with, serving these miners and tourists, “What would you know about putting your life on the line?” Or, “…What would you know about facing death?”) But he couldn't think of the words when he was on edge like this. God-damn it.
Pouring him a whiskey, Ed O'Day said, “Finding Moon is ninety percent of it, yes. If that ever happens it would be a different story.”
“How would you set the odds then?” Bren asked, satisfied that his tone did not show the edge.
“Well, I'm inclined to believe they would favor Mr. Sundeen. I don't mean as a shooting contest. I mean if he runs him down the game's over.”
“How do you come to that?” Bren asked the know-it-all, feeling the knot tighten.
Ed O'Day looked both ways along the bar and leaned closer as he said, “You take a person raised on sour milk and make him look dumb in front of his fellow man-You see what I mean? He ever sets eyes on Moon he's gonna kill him.”
“You know that as fact,” Bren said.
“No, but I'd bet on it.”
“You heard right now that Sundeen had located him-you'd put your money on Sundeen?”
“I'd say it would be the safer bet.”
“Turn the same odds around?”
Ed O'Day hesitated. “You said if he locates him-”
“Gets Moon to stand still and fight.”
“Just Sundeen, or his men too?”
“His men, anybody he wants to bring along.”
The miner standing next to Bren said, “Anybody or everybody? The way he's signing up people, he's gonna be taking a army next time-saying up at the works the next time's the last time. Though I don't want to mess up your bet none.”
“That's talk,” Ed O'Day said, but looked at Bren Early to get his reaction.