Rellis said, "You shouldn't a let him out of your sight. He'd probably run for home."

Bowers had looked away. Now his eyes returned to Rellis. "I'm not worried about that."

"What are you worried about?"

"Nothing."

"Does your partner know I'm here?"

Bowers shrugged. "I don't even know your name."

"Frank Rellis."

Bowers waited. "That doesn't mean anything to me."

"He never mentioned my name to you?"

"Why should he?"

"You're a goddamn liar if you say he hasn't."

It was in Rellis' mind, planted firmly, that Flynn was in Soyopa because he had followed him down after what happened in Contention, somehow learning of his having joined Lazair. Two men coming down to locate Soldado and his band made no sense at all. That was a cover-up. Lazair had a mule's ass for brains if he believed that. Rellis turned sideways to the bar and drank off part of the mescal.

It was going through his mind that this couldn't be better: the shavetail coming in alone…don't count the rurale…yeah, that was all right, too. Teach him a lesson he won't forget.

Bowers could see it. The tone of Rellis' voice and the right hand hanging free. He was angry, watching Rellis, seeing what he was doing, but he knew it was exactly what Rellis wanted. Jump up, drawing, at an insult…and not having a chance…so he sat still and let the anger start to pass off. His own pistol was wedged between his thigh and the chair arm rest, and the holster flap was snapped. And you had to miss the table edge bringing up the gun. Rellis has done this before, you haven't. The objections were there to calm him, to make him go slow, but they brought with them a fear, a small nervous fear, and planted it in the pit of his stomach.

His voice sounded loud in his ears as he said to Rellis, "I don't keep tab on him. If you want him, go out and start looking."

Rellis dragged on his cigarette and blew the smoke out slowly.

"What's your name?"

"Bowers."

"Bowers what?"

"Lieutenant Bowers."

Rellis' lips curled, grinning. "Well goddamn…" He said then, still grinning, "I was looking for you the other day. I came back from eatin' and they said you'd run off."

"You mean I'd left."

"You heard what I said."

"Why would I run away from you?"

Rellis lowered his head and drew on the cigarette, not taking his elbow from the bar. His head raised and the fingers holding the cigarette flicked out. The cigarette shot in a low arc and landed on the table in front of Bowers.

Bowers' eyes held on the man, feeling the heat on his face, wanting to do something, but…he was conscious of stillness…a sound close to him then: Santana mumbling an obscenity in his breath…and the sound of the screen door closing, but not seeing anyone come in because his eyes were on Rellis and Rellis, elbow on the bar, his hand hanging limp above his pistol butt, was returning the stare.

"Mostly," Rellis said now, "when I see a pissant like you I just step on him."

"Rellis-" It came unexpectedly, but without alarm.

Bowers' face relaxed, that was the effect, that suddenly, even without looking. But Rellis had to turn his head, sharply, and as he did the grin died on his face.

Flynn stood in from the doorway. He came on a few strides and stopped, his eyes on Rellis, his right hand unbuttoning his coat.

"Frank, I understand you've been looking for me."

Rellis wasn't loose now, though he was in the same position, elbows on the bar. Now he might have been nailed there.

"I…was just asking where you were."

"I heard you asking."

"Listen." Rellis straightened. "I want to get clear with you what happened in Contention. I might have talked out of turn in that barbershop-I'd been drinking and was anxious to ride out." He added quickly, "And that's what I did right after. I rode out a long ways to let my head clear, then camped by water and slept from early right through the night."

"And now you want to buy me a drink."

"That's right."

"You want to drink to what happened at the livery."

"Listen, I didn't have any part of that."

"What?"

"Shootin' that man."

"If you left Contention, how did you know about it?"

"News travels."

"All the way to Sonora?"

"It don't take long."

"Frank," Flynn said quietly, "you're a liar."

"You got no cause to say that."

Flynn moved toward Rellis. "It's said." He paused, watching Rellis' eyes. "I'm going outside. I'll expect to see you within the next few minutes…with your gun in your hand."

Rellis' face was stiff. Then it smiled, forcing the smile wide. "Now wait a minute. You're jumping to conclusions. I swear to God I wasn't near that livery!"

Flynn's eyes stayed on Rellis, though he did not speak. He stared, watching Rellis trying to appear unconcerned, and he became more confident because he knew then that Rellis was half afraid to fight. Rellis would bully Bowers, he thought, because Bowers was young, too new to have experience. Maybe Red could take him with his fists, but he wouldn't have gotten all the way out of the chair to try. This was different. This was something Rellis would want his own way or not at all, and Flynn thought: And you know how that would be. All right, let him have his way. Give him his chance.

He moved toward Rellis until only a stride separated them and suddenly, abruptly, he swung a fist up hard against Rellis' jaw. A brittle smacking sound, boot scuffing, Rellis hitting the bar, sliding back off balance, but not going down. An arm caught the bar edge. The hand moved down, but jerked back and he hung there, breathing with his mouth open, watching Flynn.

"I'll say it once more," Flynn said. "You're a liar. If you don't come out in five minutes I'll come back inside to kill you."

Flynn turned and moved toward the door. Now it's coming. Wait for Bowers. He was tensed. You'll hear it. One word. One word is all it will be and…

"Dave!"

He wheeled, drawing, thumbing the hammer, aiming with his eyes, firing. He fired once.

Rellis went to his knees, holding his chest, the uncocked pistol dropping from his other hand and he was dead as his face struck the floor.

Lew Embree placed his palms flat on the table, looking past Warren who was too drunk to know what had happened; then Lew pushed his weight on his hands, rising unsteadily. He moved between the tables, chairs scraping in the semi-stillness to make way for him, and when he stopped he was looking down at Frank Rellis.

Flynn's pistol pointed at Lew momentarily as he slipped it into the shoulder holster. "Take your friend out of here," Flynn said.

Embree looked up. "He's no friend of mine."

"Take him out anyway."

Embree shrugged. "If you hadn't done that, somebody else would've. The only trouble is somebody's got to bury the son of a bitch."

"You've buried men before, haven't you?"

Embree looked up again. "Sure."

"Then no one has to tell you how."

Flynn looked at Bowers who was next to him now. He motioned Bowers ahead of him and they went out of the mescal shop, then along the adobe fronts toward Hilario's street, Bowers leading his horse.

"I'm glad that's over," Flynn said. "It was one of those things that had to come and now I'm glad it's over with."

"It took some nerve to do it that way," Bowers said.

Flynn glanced at him, the smile at the corners of his eyes. "Red, I was counting on you for the signal."

"What if I'd been looking the other way?"

Flynn hesitated. "You can't think of everything at once." He said then, "How did you make out with Santana?"

"He's no soldier," Bowers answered. "He doesn't know the first thing about conducting a patrol…but he hates the bounty hunters. And he hates Duro even more."