Like the others in the saloon, Meechum had moved to get out of the way. Now, standing to one side of the action, and seeing that Matt Jensen’s attention was focused entirely on Pogue Willis, he realized that he had an opportunity he would never get again.
He drew his pistol.
“Draw, Jensen!” he shouted, even as his own pistol was clearing his holster.
Within the blink of an eye, Matt reacted with a draw that was fast and smooth. His practiced thumb came back on the hammer in one fluid motion while his finger put the slightest pressure on the hair trigger of his Colt. There was a blossom of white, followed by a booming thunderclap as the gun jumped in his hand.
Meechum tried to continue his draw, but the .44 slug from Matt’s pistol caught him in the heart. When the bullet came out through the back, it brought a chunk of Meechum’s shoulder blade with it, leaving an exit wound the size of a quarter.
Meechum’s hand came away from his gun and it slipped back down into his holster as he staggered backward, crashing into a table before coming down on it with a crunch that turned the table into firewood. He landed flat on his back, on the floor, his mouth open and a little sliver of blood oozing down his chin. His body was still jerking a bit, but his eyes were open and unseeing. He was already dead. Only the muscles continued to respond, as if waiting for signals that could no longer be sent.
The exchange had caught Willis by surprise, and by the time he looked back toward Matt, he saw that he was looking into the smoking barrel of Matt’s pistol.
Willis put his hands up.
“No!” he said. “No, I ain’t drawin’ on you. I ain’t drawin’.”
“Get out of here, Willis,” Matt said dryly. “I don’t like you. If I see you again, I may kill you just for the hell of it.”
“You all heard that!” Willis shouted to the others in the saloon. “I want you to remember that you all heard him threaten to kill me.”
“If you are still here ten seconds from now, it won’t be a threat, it’ll be a fact,” Matt said.
Willis glared at Matt a second longer, then turning, he hurried from the saloon.
“Ha!” one of the saloon patrons said. “I never thought I would see Pogue Willis turn tail and run.”
Several others laughed, though their laughter was nervous and guarded, as if they were afraid someone might tell Willis they had laughed at him.
Matt stood up and looked down at Bixby and Hendel, both of whom were staring at him with shocked expressions on their faces.
“I’m going to find your wife now,” Matt said. “I strongly suggest that you be here when I come back with her.”
“I’ll—I’ll be here,” Bixby said.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Matt was close.
He was not only close, he was pressing them because they were getting more careless in abandoning their campsites. At this campsite, they’d left the still-glowing embers of a campfire.
As Matt was examining the campsite, he realized that he was being watched. And because whoever was watching him had not killed him, he did not believe he was in immediate danger.
Stirring up the coals, Matt reignited the campfire, then put coffee grounds and water into his coffeepot and set it over the campfire to boil. Within moments, its rich aroma permeated the area. When he knew the coffee was done, he took two cups from his saddlebag.
“Would you join me for coffee, friend?” he called out.
Getting no response from his offer, he put one cup down by the fire and filled the second cup. Then, sitting on a nearby fallen log, he began to drink.
He heard a movement, then out of the corner of his eye saw the person who had been watching him.
Nopoloto came out from hiding, walked over to the fire, picked up the cup, then poured himself some coffee. Still without talking, he came over and sat on the same log as Matt.
“Agent Baker told me that you tried to seek justice for the raid on my village,” Nopoloto said.
“I tried,” Matt said. “I wasn’t very successful, I’m afraid.”
“What happens inside the heart is more important than what happens outside the heart. Because you tried, you are the friend of Nopoloto.”
Matt touched his cup to that of Nopoloto as if in toast. It was not a gesture with which Nopoloto was familiar, but he responded quickly.
“I am honored to be the friend of Nopoloto,” Matt said.
Nopoloto was quiet until they had finished drinking their coffee. Then he spoke.
“I will take you to Delshay,” Nopoloto said.
“I appreciate that.”
“But you must do as I say.”
“All right,” Matt agreed.
Searching around the camp, Nopoloto found a dead tree limb that was about six feet tall, and ended with a Y. He tied the branch to his saddle, then asked for Matt’s weapons.
“I don’t know,” Matt said. “I feel naked out here if I’m not armed.”
“You must do as I say,” Nopoloto said again.
Matt hesitated for just a moment, then handed his pistol to Nopoloto. Using a small strip of rawhide, Nopoloto tied the pistol to one side of the Y at the top of the branch. Then he did the same thing with Matt’s rifle, tying it to the other side. As they rode off, it was obvious to anyone who might see them that Matt was unarmed.
Matt followed Nopoloto, then chuckled as he realized they were circling back to an encampment he had already located, and discarded. Delshay was coming back to previously used encampments, realizing that whoever was following him would continue on.
As they approached the camp, Matt saw three Indians standing on the trail, waiting for them. One of the Indians was the biggest Apache he had ever seen. One was young, perhaps in his early twenties. The one in the middle was Delshay. Matt recognized him from the days when he had scouted for the army. Matt held his hand up, palm out, and was gratified to see that Delshay responded in the same way.
Delshay and Nopoloto spoke a few words in their own language. Then Delshay spoke to Matt in English.
“I have seen you before,” he said.
“Yes.”
“You were with the soldiers. Are you still with the soldiers?”
“No.”
“You have come for Mountain Lion Woman.”
“You have given her a fine name,” Matt said.
Delshay nodded. “Yes. She has the courage of a mountain lion. Her man has the courage of a rabbit.”
The other two Indians laughed.
“I have come for her, yes.”
“You would take her back to the coward?”
“I will take her where she wants to go,” Matt said.
“She will not wish to return to the coward.”
“I believe it is for her to decide.”
“Yes,” Delshay said. “It is for her to decide.”
With Matt and Nopoloto leading their horses, they followed Delshay and the other two Indians for about a mile until they came to the site of an encampment. As Matt had surmised, this was one of the earlier camps he had already discovered.
“You have been here before,” Delshay said.
“Yes,” Matt answered,
“You track like a wolf,” Delshay said. “I knew that you would find us. That is why I sent Cochinay to tell Nopoloto to bring you to me.”
“I am Cochinay,” the youngest of the three Indians who had met him said.
“You are married to the daughter of Nopoloto,” Matt said.
“You know this?” Cochinay asked in surprise.
Matt had heard about Cochinay and Alope from Nopoloto when he took him to the reservation hospital.
“Yes, I know this. It is a good marriage for her.”
“She is dead. She was killed before we could marry.”
“You are married,” Matt said. “In the spirit world, you are married, and she is very pleased.”
Cochinay nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I think that is right.”
Matt looked around the campsite for Cynthia. At first, he saw only Indians—then he realized that one of the people he was seeing wasn’t an Indian.