“Lazy turds,” Captain McQuade growled. “I have to kick ass every half hour.”

“You got a pretty big army here now, though.”

The Mexicans were setting up a few tents along the riverbank. Most of them didn’t bother with tents or didn’t have any; they were unrolling their saddle blankets on the hot dry ground. Boag’s eye had had a good many years’ practice estimating the size of a military unit with a single glance. He figured this one close to regiment size.

“We won a couple of fights up above Ures. A lot of recruits came in. We even got a few coming over from the Pesquiera army.”

“Then at least you got some professional help.”

Captain McQuade snorted. “Rotten excuses for soldiers. That’s why we’re whipping the pants off them.”

“Are you now?”

“Well we would be if it wasn’t for your friend Jed Pickett, I think.” Captain McQuade lifted the flap of his command tent and ducked inside; Boag followed him. There was a cot and a folding desk with a lantern on it and Captain McQuade shook the lantern to check the fuel before he put a match to it and adjusted the wick. “We had a good one two days ago up there. We killed some, and then we set up an ambush because I knew they’d be back—these Papists never leave their dead, they always come back for them. So we killed some more.”

“You could play that trick once too often.”

“Sure, I know that Boag,” Captain McQuade said. “How’s Don Pablo and the missus?”

“All right.”

“When’d you see them last?”

“About a week ago.”

“Around here that can be a long time.”

Boag slapped his hat against his thigh to beat the dust from it. “What’s this you said about Mr. Pickett mixing into your war?”

“He’s backing Pesquiera, I hear. Trying to shore up the regime.”

“What for?”

“Pickett’s buying up a lot of land for pennies on the peso. I think he’s got empire plans, he wants to be the czar of the Santa Cruz district. But it’s against Mexican law for any foreigner to own more than forty-nine percent of any income-producing property. They want to keep foreign capital from taking over the country. So your friend Pickett’s putting the land in the name of one of his men, a Mexican.”

“Gutierrez.”

“That’s it. Gutierrez is just a dummy front for Pickett and everybody knows it. The government could hit him for fraud and take it all away from him. If we win this revolution and Cesar Ruiz takes over the Governor’s Palace down in Hermosillo your friend Pickett is out on his ass. So Pickett’s paying a lot of money into the Governor’s treasury and the Governor’s using it to buy new batches of field pieces and Gatling guns. It makes the hill a lot harder for us to climb.”

“Then you’d feel a lot better if you could get Mr. Pickett out of this thing. Right Captain?”

“Now you’re the one that wants me to join your army, that it?” Captain McQuade laughed a little but his long face settled back into lines that seemed even more dour than usual. His eyes had an ominous murky color; he seemed unnaturally tired. He uncorked a jug and offered it to Boag: pure tequila, the kind that burned all the way down.

“I’m sorry Boag. For one thing Pickett’s a civilian and that puts him out of my reach. But for another thing I’ve got a campaign going here and I haven’t got time chasing off with you after some pipe dream of glory. I guess you’re still in a real sweat to get killed, aren’t you.”

“Captain I ain’t asking you to fight my war for me. But I need a little backing. Logistical. I think it’d be worth your while on the chance it would take him out. Mr. Pickett.”

“What kind of logistical backing, Boag?”

“Mainly one of them Gatling guns you got.”

“I’m sorry. That’s out of the question.”

“I’d be pleased to pay for it. I can lead you to twenty-five hundred dollars real quick-like. You get the money first, then I take the Gatling gun. Just a loan for a little spell, you understand. You’ll get the gun back but you keep the twenty-five hundred dollars. You boys need money don’t you? That’s a pretty high rental fee.”

He never trusted anyone entirely. He had the money right outside in his saddlebag, the half brick of gold, but he wasn’t about to admit that.

“I’ll have to think on that,” Captain McQuade said. “We need every gun, Boag.”

“Twenty-five hundred dollars U.S., Captain.”

“I’ll think on it. You had any grub tonight?”

“Not yet.”

“Neither have I. Let’s fit our bellies around something.”

The coffee smoked as it poured into Boag’s cup; it made a good smell. He was reminded of the musky smell of Dorotea’s breasts.

“You’ve got twenty-five hundred dollars,” Captain McQuade said. “Why don’t you quit? Even a train stops.”

“Well I still got a thing or two to settle with Mr. Pickett.”

“It gravels me to see a good man ask for killing. You’re just standing out there like Custer, Boag. Pickett’s just waiting for you to get a little closer to him so he can stick it in your back and break it off.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time he tried that. I found those two rawhiders of his down to Tres Osos. I’m obliged to you for the word on that.”

“That where you got all this money you’re waving around at me?”

“Aeah.”

“Well that bought you a little time, I guess.”

“That’s all any of us got, Captain. A little time between birth and death.”

“Don’t you go wise man on me, Boag Look, join up with me. Between us we’ll get rid of Pesquiera and that’ll put the slide under Jed Pickett. We’re both on the same side of this. And God knows I still need you. All I’ve got around here is fools with cranberries for cojones.”

“It still ain’t my war, Captain.”

“Now quit waving your conscience around. You want Pickett a lot worse than I do.”

“And I’m gon get him. But my way, Captain.”

Captain McQuade rubbed the back of his head, bobbing and ducking his head. Very tired. Finally he said, “Well I’m sorry Boag but I can’t let you have a ten-barrel gun. We’re short of them and besides if yours fell into Pickett’s hands that would be one more Gatling out against us. But you got anything else I can provide?”

“A few things I could use. A coil of heavy-gauge wire. A few kegs of blasting powder. Maybe half a dozen rifles. A few hundred rounds ammunition. A couple good hundred-foot lassos. One first-rate long-range rifle. Thirty-eight fifty-six if you got one. I had one but they took it off me in Ures. A few gallons of kerosene, a couple blankets. A buckboard to carry it all. And maybe you could cut me out a horse to haul the wagon.”

“Boag you’re putting me ass-deep in requisitions.” Captain McQuade looked pained. “I’ve got damn little to spare in this camp.”

“I’ll pay you for it, Captain.”

Captain McQuade did not stir; only the eyes moved. They settled on Boag with enormous disgust. Captain McQuade picked up a twig and burrowed it into his ear and examined it and threw it away, and in the end he said, “I can let you have the kerosene. The blankets and the lassos, all right. I can probably even scare up a few beat-up carbines and a little ammunition. If I can find any construction wire I’ll let you have a roll. But a good long rifle and blasting powder and a buckboard? Those I can’t spare, Boag.”

It was what Boag had expected but he had tried it first; you had to.

He stood up and raised the tent flap to look outside. Then he turned back and when Captain McQuade lifted the ruby coals of his eyes, Boag flicked out a revolver and cocked it with a series of ominous clicks. “Let me see your holster gun a minute, Captain.”

“What the hell?”

Boag took the revolver from him. Emptied it and handed it back to Captain McQuade.

“Aw Boag,” Captain McQuade said in disgust.

“Well I’m sorry Captain. If I had another way I’d do it.”

“You won’t get ten feet from here. Not alive.”