Bowen had already seen Brazil. He went down, rolling away from the slope, hearing Pryde’s one-word scream lost in the high-whining, dust-kicking report of the Winchester.
There was no time to think, yet it was in his mind to help Pryde. He had returned to the defile in time to see only part of it-Pryde lighting the fuse and running, Brazil rolling to his stomach, bringing up the Winchester, then the blast going off down on the shelf and Pryde stumbling-
And now, even knowing it was too late, Bowen thought of Lizann’s revolver. He pushed up to his hands and knees, then was moving, running for the row of detonator boxes when the draw erupted behind him.
The force of it slammed him to the ground and he covered his head with his arms as the sand and rock fragments showered down on him. Then he was up again, the hissing ringing of the explosion still tight about him, seeing Manring coming toward him, Manring looking past him to where the draw had been.
The left wall of the draw had been blown in, completely filling the narrow depression, so that now a steep slope of shattered rock dropped to the shelf and covered the section of it that had curved into the draw.
“Ike’s under there,” Bowen murmured. “He cut the fuse short, tried to leave Brazil there, but Brazil shot him-”
Manring looked back toward the trees. What had happened to Pryde meant nothing-not with Mimbres about to appear. He said urgently, “We got to move!” and started back toward the equipment.
Bowen stared down the slope. Was it worth that? You didn’t do it-it was his own fault!
“Come on!” Manring’s voice.
Bowen’s gaze went down into the canyon. He saw the convicts, small figures far below, and a rider moving up canyon. He turned and ran toward Manring. “Cut the fuses!”
“With what?” Manring looked at him helplessly. “Ike had the knife!” He turned to the trees nervously. “With what, damn it!”
“We’ll cut them,” Bowen said. “Hold on to yourself.”
“We got to get out of here!”
Bowen’s eyes went over the equipment. No knife…but the hand axe.
He picked it up, gathered the five dynamite sticks he had prepared and had lined up on the ground, ran his hand down all five fuses at once, drawing them together, then chopped down with the hatchet-once, twice, again, until he had chopped through all of them and only eight inches of fuse remained with each cartridge.
“There!” Manring was still looking at the trees. “I saw one!”
Bowen looked up. Off through the trees he could see a movement. Now you have to be careful, he thought. Not too close.
He struck a match, held it to a fuse, then picked up the stick and threw it. The dynamite exploded as it struck the ground ten yards out from the trees.
He told Manring, “When I throw the next one, run.” And he thought: You don’t even have to light it. But it’s better to be sure.
He struck a match, touched it to a fuse and threw the stick in the same direction. It was end over end in the air as Manring started to run, striking the ground and exploding as Bowen took the revolver from the detonator box and shoved it inside his shirt and into his waist. He picked up the three remaining cartridges and ran after Manring.
They ran for the pass that wound through the rocks beyond the end of the canyon, followed its narrow, shadowed course and as they came out Bowen lighted and dropped another stick. They were running down the length of the meadow when it exploded behind them.
Now the Mimbres from the other side, Bowen told himself. He turned to stand in the open, in the thick grama grass that moved in slow waves with the wind.
Manring turned, hesitating. “Come on!”
Bowen motioned to him to go on. “I’ll catch up.” He turned back to face the rocks, hearing Manring moving through the tall grass, the hurried swishing sound becoming fainter. This is something, he thought. Covering for him. No, you’re covering for yourself too. This is the way to do it. It’s a once-and-for-all thing. If it works. If they scare easy.
He saw them then-the six riders slightly off to the right coming down through the rocks. They had seen him, he was sure of that, and now they had reached the meadow and were coming directly for him.
You can spot them by the way they ride, Bowen thought. Straight on and no games this time. All business.
He struck a match with his thumbnail, held it as he judged the distance closing between him and the Mimbres, then touched it to the dynamite and threw the stick.
It struck and exploded twenty yards in front of the Mimbres, and they swerved right and left. They started circling back out of range and Bowen threw the last stick, arching it higher into the air. It exploded closer than the first one and the next moment they were galloping back up the slope, winding through the rock formations.
Bowen ran on through the meadow, came out of it and started up the slope ahead of him. Near the wagon road that skirted the shoulder of the hill, he caught up with Manring.
“Now Pinaleño,” Bowen said.
Frank Renda had descended the five-shadowed grade and was approaching the camp when the main charge went off in the canyon. He heard it faintly in the distance and in his mind saw a section of wall high above the shelf buckle out, seem to rise and hang suspended, then disappear into thick dust-as the previous blasts had appeared from the floor of the canyon.
But he pictured this for only a moment. His thoughts returned to Lizann Falvey. She was the business at hand. Something to be dealt with now. You let a woman get a little bit sure of herself and pretty soon she makes you sick to your stomach watching her pretend she’s a man. Lizann had gone far enough. Riding into the canyon had been, in fact, too far.
He had forbidden her ever to come near the road construction. “Ride anywhere you want, but stay away from the convicts when you got a horse.” That meant stay out of the canyon. But this morning she had come down the new road-telling him without words what she thought of his authority.
Maybe she was bluffing. Maybe she was only trying to worry him. But she seemed too sure of herself. Maybe she did have a plan. Whichever it was, he intended to find out now.
There was no guard at the gate. He had shifted one of the night men to day work when the dynamiting began. Why, he was not sure; but it seemed to him there should be another guard on hand while they were working with high explosives.
The night man was sleeping now and the gate was open. As Renda passed into the compound, the sound of the second explosion reached him. He reined in abruptly and sat listening.
An echo?
That’s all. He relaxed, nudging the big chestnut to a walk, thinking: Brazil’s there. He’ll shoot if anybody even looks at him sideways.
He dismounted in front of the Falveys’ quarters and entered the open doorway without knocking. As he did, Lizann came out of the bedroom. She had changed from her riding suit and was fastening the top buttons of her dress. She showed no surprise at seeing Renda.
“What do you want now?”
“I saw you in the canyon a while ago.”
“You rode all the way in to tell me that?”
“I told you never to go near there.”
She nodded. “Three or four times.”
“I’m not going to tell you again.”
“That’s fine.”
“Next time you go in the punishment cell.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“You want to find out, go ahead.”
Lizann smiled faintly. “Frank, do you honestly think you’re frightening me?”
“If I’m not, you’re the one’s going to suffer for it.”
“I don’t think so,” Lizann said. She moved across the room to the table, poured water into a glass from an earthenware pitcher, then sat down. She crossed her legs, sitting sideways to the table and sipped at the glass. “Frank,” she said, lowering the glass, “I’d ask you to stay, but I couldn’t think of anything more unpleasant to have happen.”
Renda moved toward her. “Lizzy, you’re bluffing, aren’t you.”
“About you being unpleasant?”
“About leaving here.”
A smile touched Lizann’s mouth. “Why do you think I’m bluffing?”
“Because you know what I’d do to you if you ever tried.”
“Has it kept you awake-thinking about it?”
“If you’re not bluffing, Lizzy, you’ll wish you were.”
“Frank, stop trying to sound menacing. You don’t frighten me anymore. I’m leaving here…there’s nothing you can do about it, and the sooner you realize it the better.”
He moved to the table, raised his hip to sit on the edge and folded his arms. Looking down at her he asked, “How’re you going to do it?”
Lizann took a sip of water and placed the glass down carefully. She had expected him to show his temper, but he remained calm, deliberately in control of himself. After a moment she answered, “You’d never guess.”
“I don’t have to,” Renda said. “You’re going to tell me.”
“I’ll tell you this, Frank-which I already have-it’s going to happen and you’ll still be thinking about it when it does.”
Renda watched her. As she raised the glass again, his arms uncoiled and he swept it from her hand. The glass shattered against the floor and Lizann went back from the table, straightening, looking suddenly at Renda with shocked surprise.
Renda’s arms were folded again. “I asked you how’re you going to do it.”
Lizann did not answer, though she continued to stare at him and her hand brushed at the wet stain on her skirt.
“Willis didn’t write to anybody,” Renda said. “You haven’t either, because I’ve seen every letter that’s gone out. What other way is there?”
“You’ll have to find out for yourself,” Lizann said. She saw his arms separating and tried to turn away, but she was not quick enough and the back of his hand stung across her cheek.
As she looked up at him again, Renda said, “I’m going to find out, but not by myself. You see what I mean?”
She could feel her cheek burning as she made herself return his stare. “You intend to force me to tell you?”
Renda shrugged. “One way or the other.”
“You’re not a man…you’re an animal.”
“I’m still asking-”
“You can go to hell.”
She was expecting it, but his hand struck so suddenly there was not time to turn from the blow, and as her head came up he struck her again with his open right hand.
“I’m not fooling, Lizzy!”
She brought her arms up in front of her and as he drew back his hand again she left the chair. Renda was on her as she reached the bedroom door. He pushed her inside and against the near wall, held her against the adobe until she stopped struggling, then stepped back slowly.
“The next time I use my fist!”
“I told you-”
He brought his fist back, but at the last moment he opened it and struck her again with the palm of his hand.
“Say it!”
“I have nothing to say.”
Renda stepped back. He shifted his weight and saw her eyes close as he hit her in the face with his fist. Lizann’s head struck the wall and she started to go down, but Renda caught her and held her against the adobe.
“I’ll bust your face wide open. Honest to God I’ll fix you so no man’ll look at you as long as you live.”
Lizann’s eyes opened. She breathed in and out slowly, painfully, and said, “Let me sit down…I’ll tell you.”
“You’re stalling.”
“Let me sit down-”
Renda held her against the wall. “How’re you going to do it?”
“Willis wrote a letter. He mailed it from Fuegos.”
“You’re lying!”
“I swear it’s the truth!”
Renda went back a half step and drove his fist against her cheek.
“I’ll kill you! You understand that!” He moved against her before she could slide to the floor. Close to her face he said, “One more will fix you. One more and even Willis won’t know you.” Her head hung forward resting on his shoulder. He could feel her breathing against him, but she made no sign that she had heard.
“All right,” Renda said. His left hand held her against the wall as he stepped back.
Lizann raised her head. The side of her face was deep red, her cheekbone was skinned and a thin line of blood showed at the corner of her eye. Her eyes remained closed as she said, “I wrote the letter.”
“You’re lying!”
“I did!”
“How could you mail it?”
“I gave it to that girl from the station.” That was it. It was forming in her mind now-something to make him leave, something to give her time-but the pain made it difficult to think and she knew she had to be careful. You gave it to the girl, she thought hurriedly. But she hasn’t mailed it yet. He must think he can still get it. But get him out-for God’s sake get him out!
“When did you give it to her?”
Lizann opened her eyes slowly. “She was here just before you came. A few minutes before.”
“Nobody passed me. Not a soul.”
“Then she came the other way. I don’t know…but I gave it to her.”
“Lizzy, if you’re lying to me-”
“I swear it!”
Suddenly Renda turned from her. There was the sound of a horse outside. He waited. “Stay where you are,” he said then and went out into the front room. The moment he reached the doorway he saw that his horse was gone. He ran out, hearing the running hoofbeats now-two horses, one of them his, both moving through the open gate, then swinging south toward the wagon road.
“Karla!” Renda cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted after her. She did not look back, but he saw her release his horse before she disappeared over a low-swelling rise.
Lizann stood in the doorway to the bedroom. “What did you say? You called something.”
“Karla…she was still here.”
“You’re sure?”
“Listening to us all the time,” Renda said. “Else she wouldn’t be running now.”
Lizann stared at him.
“Now I’ll have to go after her,” Renda said. He looked at Lizann again. “I would’ve sworn you were lying. You’re lucky she was still around. You know I just might have killed you.”
Lizann nodded slowly. She did not trust herself to speak.