The next moment Sunshine was pushing up with his arms and his one good leg. But it was a feint, for he lunged suddenly to the side. Corsen was ready. He swung the barrel and placed the next shot a foot in front of Sunshine. Pieces of adobe splattered on the Apache's hair, and now he sat down and stared toward the shed.
Corsen said, "Watch along the wall, Ed. I'm going out. You edge toward the house."
Fisher said, "What?"
"If this works," Corsen said hurriedly, "I'll give you a signal. When I do, bring the men out. Just the men!"
Sunshine had not moved, and now Corsen said, "Here we go." He handed the Winchester to Fisher and pushed over the straw bales. Going over them, he drew his pistol and walked out into the open yard with the handgun pointed toward Sunshine. When he was in the middle of the yard he stopped.
"Bil-Clin!"
There was no answer, though he knew they were on the other side of the wall.
He shouted again, "Bil-Clin!" Then he said in Spanish, "My gun is on your son!" His eyes shifted above Sunshine. Stillness. A bare line of adobe- and then Bil-Clin was standing a dozen paces to the left, head and shoulders above the wall. Corsen's eyes went to him.
"Come over the wall." Bil-Clin's arms came up and he raised himself to the top of the wall and dropped to the inside. He did not look at his son, but approached Corsen.
"Bil-Clin," Corsen said, "call Bonito and the others."
The Apache said a word in Mescalero and suddenly his warriors were at the wall. They had stood up and were now a line of bare chests and war paint and thick blue-black hair with cloth bands over the foreheads. Bonito stood among them, but he was alone. He lifted his Maynard and rested it on the wall.
"Come in, Bonito," Corsen said. And when the renegade did not move he glanced at Bil-Clin, then cocked his pistol. "Order him to come in--if you're still the chief."
Bil-Clin looked at his son now, for the first time. The boy's eyes, between stripes of yellow paint, were on Corsen. Bil-Clin spoke again in Mescalero and it was evident that his words were for Bonito. But Bonito did not answer.
Corsen tightened. He could feel it in his stomach, but he made his voice sound calm. "Bonito, you are now chief?"
Still the Apache said nothing.
"Yesterday you told me that chieftainship of the Mescalero is not a thing of heredity, but a position earned by the one most capable in war. In fighting. So, Bonito, are you chief?"
Bonito did not move. Corsen was looking at him now, but he glanced away momentarily toward Ed Fisher, and nodded to him.
"Let me tell you something, Bonito. There are others who live here now--some with authority that seems to contradict yours. How can you be a chief if you have opposed only this old man, Bil-Clin?"
He glanced toward the house and saw them coming out now.
"What about the government man, Bonito? He tells me you are a woman--a filthy pig of a woman with the diseases of animals. Unfit to live. And he has much authority. Perhaps he is the true chief here?"
Bonito's eyes had gone to Sellers as he appeared in the doorway. The eyes held on the man, narrowing, and then Bonito was over the wall.
"How would you have it, Cor-sen?"
"Whatever is customary."
"With the knife, then."
"I'll tell him." Corsen turned to the men in front of the station house. "Sellers, Bonito says you're afraid to fight him alone."
Sellers was startled. "You're crazy!" "Ask him."
"Fight him with what?"
"Knives."
"Now I know you're crazy."
"You want to convince him you're boss, don't you? Beat him in a fair fight, the way they have to pick their chiefs sometimes."
Fisher moved a step toward Sellers and, as he did so, brought the Winchester up and down in a short motion and Sellers's pistol was out of his hand. He looked at Fisher with complete surprise, watching the outlaw pick up the pistol.
"I'll hold it for you while you're teaching that red son a lesson."
"Corsen! Tell him I won't fight him, that we don't do this in our government."
"Bonito," Corsen translated, "he says he does not have a knife."
Bonito reached behind him and drew a dullgleaming blade from his waistband. His arm swung low. The knife scraped, bouncing over the sand to stop near Sellers.
"Corsen, tell that savage--"
"Listen," Corsen said, "this started because of you and Bonito. So you and he are going to finish it."
"He's fought this way all of his life. I wouldn't have a chance!"
Corsen shrugged. "You can't tell."
Bonito was handed a knife and without hesitating he stepped toward Sellers. Fisher stooped, picked up the knife at Sellers's feet, and put it in his hand. "If you make it, I'll buy you a drink."
"Wait a minute, Ross!" Sellers backed up.
"Ross, tell him I won't do it--"
But Bonito was in front of him now.
The Mescalero lowered his head, hunching his shoulders, and brought the knife up in front of him, looking up at Sellers's face through halfclosed eyes.
"Ross!"
The blade flashed, a short swipe of naked arm that was out and in before anyone could see what had happened.
Sellers screamed. His left cheek was slashed from ear to mouth.
"Ross!"
Bonito feinted toward Sellers's head. Going back, Sellers brought up his arm, but the blade dropped. It flashed low under his guard and flicked a short arc across the sucked-in stomach. Sellers's vest opened from pocket to pocket and he screamed again and this time turned and started to run. But he came up short, pushed, jolted back to face Bonito by Teachout, who stood behind him. "You're going the wrong way," Teachout said.
"Let me go!"
Bonito stood waiting.
Corsen's gaze went from him to Sellers. "Are you through?"
Sellers, blood smeared over his face, was breathing hard, holding his stomach. "Ross." He gasped.
"Shoot him! Now, while he's still!"
"Are you quitting?" Corsen said.
"God! Shoot him!"
Corsen said calmly, "Fight him, or else get out."
Sellers looked at him strangely, taken by surprise. "Get out?"
"That's right. Ride out of here and take Verbiest with you. Forget you ever worked for the Bureau. There are seven people here to testify you're not fit for the job. Now, either fight him or write yourself off."
Sellers hesitated, fingering the cut across his stomach, his eyes on Corsen. Then his gaze went slowly to Bonito, who stood unmoving, watching him. Gradually Sellers's grip loosened around the knife, and as it dropped from his hand he turned abruptly and walked to the station house. The screen door banged.
"Now," Bonito said coldly, "there is no more doubt."
"It is still in my mind," Corsen said mildly. He lowered the pistol he'd been holding on Sunshine and turned to Bonito. He added, pointedly, "I have seen women fight before. Usually it proves nothing."
Bonito's eyes narrowed. "Say your words straight, Cor-sen."
Corsen stopped a stride from the Apache. He raised his hand and swung the open palm hard against Bonito's face. The Apache was taken off guard and staggered back, but he did not go down.
"Is that straight enough?"
Corsen looked back at Ed Fisher and swung the pistol underhand toward him, and as he turned back to Bonito he shifted his feet suddenly and came around with his right fist smashing against the Apache's face. And this time Bonito went down.
"Maybe that's a little straighter." Then, looking toward Bil-Clin, Corsen said, "Is this your chief?"
Bonito came to one knee. His mouth was half open with numbness, but he smiled and said, "All right. Corsen."
Behind him he heard Fisher say, "Here's the knife." Corsen half turned as if to look at Fisher, but it was a short movement. He pivoted, swinging his left hand, and again caught Bonito on the face as he was rising. The Apache went down, rolling away from Corsen's reach, but as he came up Corsen was there. He swung a right and then a left to the Apache's head to beat him down again.