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Gentry just glared at him, then stepped behind the stage to the boot ... opened it, and pulled out Johnson’s bag and samples kit. He tossed them onto the ground in front of Johnson.

“Get, I said!”

“Mr. Clark?” Johnson said again.

“If I was you, Mr. Johnson, I’d be gettin’ about now,” Clark said.

With a whimper of fear, Johnson picked up his luggage, then hurried on down the street, disappearing in the dark.

In the meantime Jane, Timmy, and Falcon climbed out of the stage.

“Ma’am,” Clark said, touching the brim of his hat. “I hope you weren’t hurt.”

“I wasn’t hurt,” Jane said. “But the poor little Indian girl who was traveling with us was killed.”

“Indian girl?” Clark asked.

“Yes,” Gentry said. “She’s up on top of the coach with Kerry.”

“Was her name Cloud Dancer?”

“Yes, it was. How did you know?” Gentry asked.

“We got word she was comin’ back home,” Clark said. “This ain’t good. No, sir, this ain’t good at all.”

“Did you know her?” Jane asked.

“Oh, yes, ma’am, I know’d her all right,” Clark replied. “What’s more, I know her papa, Keytano.”

Jane gasped and put her hand to her mouth. “She was the daughter of the chief Keytano?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“She never said a word about that.”

“She wouldn’t,” Falcon said, speaking for the first time. “That’s not her way.”

“You knew her, did you?” Clark asked.

Falcon shook his head. “No. I met her for the first time on the stage. But I know her kind.”

Clark squinted his eyes as he looked at Falcon. “Have we met before, mister?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Falcon said. “I live in Colorado, but this isn’t my first time here.”

“What’s your name?”

“MacCallister. Falcon MacCallister.”

“I knew it!” Clark said, snapping his fingers. “You and Mickey Free cleaned out Naiche and his bunch here a few years ago. That was you, wasn’t it?”

Falcon nodded. “Yes, it was me.”

Clark stuck out his hand. “Well, mister, I’d like to shake your hand.”

Falcon shook his hand.

“Wow!” Timmy said. “I didn’t you was a hero!”

“Hardly a hero,” Falcon said.

“Hah, that ain’t what all the dime novels say,” Clark said. “My boy collects them. He must have half a dozen about you.”

Falcon chuckled. “I can’t be held accountable for what someone writes in one of those dime novels. And from what I’ve been able to determine, there’s very little truth in them.”

“Well, what they wrote about you and the Indians here ’bouts was true,” Clark said. “There ain’t none of us around here that don’t know that story.1 What brings you to Oro Blanco?”

“I bought the Rey de Plata mine.”

“The Rey de Plata. That the mine that belonged to Doc Holliday?”

“Yes. I bought it from him.”

“Oh,” Clark said. “Oh, that’s not good.”

“Not good? You mean the mine is worthless?”

“No, I don’t mean that. Fact is, ever’body thinks that mine is a rich producer. But ... it’s right at the very edge of the Apache land, and it’s too dangerous to work.”

“You’re having Indian trouble again?”

“Some trouble, yes. We had some prospectors killed a couple weeks ago, not more’n a mile from your mine as a matter of fact. And now, what with the chief’s daughter bein’ murdered ’n all, well, it can’t do nothing but get worse.”

Falcon felt a little spasm of pain from the wound on top of his head, and he winced slightly. Noboby but Jane noticed it.

“Mr. Clark, do you have a doctor in Oro Blanco?” Jane asked.

“Yes, ma’am, we have one. That would be Dr. Andrews,” Clark replied. “You needin’ a doctor, ma’am?”

“No, but I think a doctor should look at Mr. MacCallister.”

“Mr. MacCallister?” Clark replied. He looked at Falcon. “Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“He was shot in the head,” Jane said. She reached up to remove Falcon’s hat, showing the blood streak through his wheat-blond hair.

“Holy ...” Clark started to say, then, realizing there was a woman present, checked his language. “I reckon you was at that. Well, sir, the doc’s office is right down the street on top of the hardware store. You can’t miss it. He lives in some rooms behind his office.”

“If you folks will pardon me, I think I’ll find the nearest saloon and have a drink,” Falcon said. He put his hat back on, then nodded toward Jane. “Ma’am,” he said.

Falcon walked away from the coach then, and like Johnson a few moments earlier, disappeared into the darkness.

“He really should have it looked at,” Jane said.

“Like as not, the doc is in the saloon anyway,” Gentry said. “He generally takes his supper in there and visits for a while this time of night. I’ll have him look at Mr. MacCallister.”

“Thank you,” Jane said. She looked at Clark. “I wonder if you would arrange to have the smaller of my three suitcases sent to the hotel. And if you would, keep the other two here for me. I’ll be taking the morning stage on to Providence Wells.”

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll take care of it for you,” Clark said. He sighed, and looked up at the coach. “I’d better get Gene Nunlee down here as well. He’s got two bodies to take care of.”

Falcon was eating a supper of beans and tortillas when a couple of men stepped up to his table. Looking up from his meal, he recognized Gentry.

“Mr. Gentry,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

“This here is Doc Andrews,” Gentry said. “You can let him look at your wound.”

Falcon waved him off. “I told you, there’s no need.”

“Sorry, you can’t get rid of me that easy. I promised Mrs. Stockdale I’d have the doctor take a look at you,” Gentry said. “And she ain’t a woman that can be easy put off.”

Falcon chuckled. “I think you’re right about that. But there’s nothing to my wound.”

“Then you won’t mind me taking a look at it,” Doc Andrews said.

Falcon sighed, then took off his hat and leaned his head forward. “All right, go ahead, take a look at it if you must.”

“Gentry, get that lantern over here and hold it close so I can see.”

“All right,” Gentry said, going over to take a burning lantern down from a shelf. He brought it back over and held it above Falcon’s scalp while Andrews examined it.

“You are a lucky man,” the doctor said. “If that bullet had been half an inch farther to the left, you’d be dead.”

“Yeah, I know,” Falcon said. “But so far my luck has held out.”

“Looks like you cleaned it out pretty well. That was smart of you.”

“I can thank Mrs. Stockdale for that,” Falcon said.

“Thing is, if it festers it could still kill you, so you better let me treat it,” Dr. Andrews said. He opened his bag and took out a bottle. “This is going to sting a little,” he said as he poured alcohol onto the wound.

“Ouch! Damn right it stings,” Falcon said.

“Shame on you,” Dr. Andrews said. “Think of all those kids who are reading about you in dime novels now. What would they think if they saw you wincing like this?”

“They’d think it hurts,” Falcon said.

“Yes, well, at least you came out on top of the deal. I saw the other man.”

“You saw the other man? What do you mean, what are you talking about?”

Dr. Andrews turned to Gentry. “Didn’t you tell me it was Fargo Ford that robbed the stage?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I treated one of the men who robbed you. They called him Ponci. He’s in real bad shape.”

“You say one of them is hurt?” Gentry said. He shook his head. “Don’t know how that could be. Didn’t none of us get a shot off.”