Salvaje continued to stare at Bowen, openly appraising him and for a moment the hint of a smile softened his mouth. He nodded his head then, slowly, as if to say: It was a good game and it is too bad it had to end-

5

At one time, the convict camp at Five Shadows had been a cavalry station-founded during the raiding days of Cochise and garrisoned until Geronimo and his renegade Chiricahuas were sent off to Florida. Officers’ row, the troopers’ barracks, and even the log stable-forming a U around three sides of the quadrangle-were constructed of a double thickness of adobe brick, for although Five Shadows had been designated a temporary station, there was always a feeling of permanency about the Apache campaigns.

It had been deserted for almost seven years when Frank Renda began using it as a camp for his road construction operation.

In appearance, the camp was much the same as it had always been-even to the windmill and the half dozen Apache jacales off beyond the stable where the Mimbreño trackers and their families lived. But now a ten-foot barbed wire fence-three feet of it angled to the inside-enclosed the compound. Over the gate a sign read:

The five separate quarters of officers’ row now housed Renda, his five guards, and the government superintendent, Willis Falvey, and his wife. Across the compound, parallel to this adobe, was the stable. The troopers’ barracks, in which the convicts were now kept, formed the base of the U and six doors of this adobe faced directly south to the camp’s only gate. Five of the doors entered directly into the long dirt-floor barracks. The sixth door opened into a single room that had originally been part of the barracks, but was now bricked off and did not have a window. This was the punishment cell.

At three o’clock Frank Renda rode into the compound. He had been out at the construction site since returning with the supply wagon. But less than a half hour ago, one of the Mimbres had come to him with word that Bowen had been taken. He placed Brazil in charge then and started back to camp, wanting to be there when they brought in Bowen.

Crossing the open yard, he saw Lizann Falvey come out of the stable. He dismounted in front of her and brought his horse into the shade of the wide, open doorway.

“Have a nice ride?”

Lizann shrugged, removing her gloves and not bothering to look at Renda as he spoke. She wore a green riding suit and hat, the hat straight over her eyes and resembling a small derby, and her auburn hair was pulled back severely into a chignon at the nape of her neck.

“I was out on the road,” Renda said, “and saw you go by.” Beneath the heavy mustache, his lips barely moved. “I thought I told you not to go near there.”

She looked at him now; her expression described boredom and even raising her eyes seemed an effort. Still she did not speak.

“So we’re not talking today,” Renda said mildly.

Lizann shrugged. “There isn’t really much point in it.”

“We could talk about Willis going to Fuegos again.”

“I didn’t know he had.”

“Maybe,” Renda suggested, “Willis’s got a woman there.”

Lizann looked at him again. “Willis wouldn’t know the first thing about getting one.”

“He got you.”

“Did he?”

“Then you must’ve got him,” Renda said. He nodded thoughtfully, even though he had thought about this before, months before, when Willis Falvey and his wife had first arrived. He had reasoned it out for himself at that time. “Sure,” he said now, “you got him…seeing him with Washington friends and thinking he was due for something big. I don’t blame you, Lizzy.” Renda paused. “But why did he end up here?”

“You’re talking to yourself,” Lizann said.

“Well,” Renda shrugged. “It doesn’t make much difference how it happened, when you get right down to it. Does it? You’re here and there isn’t a solitary thing you can do about it.”

“Isn’t there?” Their eyes held momentarily. Then Lizann turned from him and started across the quadrangle. Renda slapped his chestnut into the stable and caught up with her.

“So you’re still after Willis to quit.”

She didn’t bother to look at him, but she answered, “That isn’t any of your business.”

“You might think it isn’t,” Renda said. “I’ll tell you this-the only way Willis quits while I’m here is to get carried out feet first.”

“I’m surprised you let him go to Fuegos.”

“Willis’s got to have some fun.”

“What if he should run away?”

Renda shook his head. “He doesn’t even think about it any more.”

Lizann said, “You must have someone there to watch him, or you wouldn’t be so sure.”

“No, Lizzy…you know it and Willis knows it, if he runs out on me he’s a ruined man. I don’t need anybody bird-doggin’ him.”

“He’s already ruined,” Lizann replied.

“Let’s say he realizes that,” Renda said. “He still wouldn’t leave you here. See how it is?”

They were almost halfway across the yard when Renda saw the riders out beyond the gate. They were perhaps a quarter of a mile out and walking their horses toward the compound. Watching them, he said, “A man tried to run away this morning.”

Lizann looked up, following his gaze. “Good for him.”

“That’s him they’re bringing back.”

“And now you’ll teach him a lesson.”

“Even if I didn’t want to,” Renda said, “I would.”

They went on to the ramada shade of the long adobe and stopped there to watch the Mimbres ride in.

They straggled to almost single file as the guard opened half of the gate for them, then broke into a trot as they passed into the compound, two of the horses carrying double, and now Renda and Lizann could see the man they were leading.

Bowen was on foot, fifteen feet behind the last Mimbre. His hands were tied behind him and a reata extended from his neck to the saddle horn of the rider in front of him. The reata pulled taut as the horse started to trot and Bowen was jerked forward. He stumbled but kept his feet under him and now had to run to keep up with the horse.

Renda stepped out into the sunlight and raised his arm. “Over here!” He glanced back at Lizann. “They haven’t missed yet.”

Lizann was watching Salvaje, seeing him coming toward them now. “Animal tracks man,” she said. Her gaze moved to Bowen then.

He was hatless and from hair to shoes he was covered with a heavy film of dust. She was sure that he had fallen more than once and had been dragged by the horse. The knees were torn from his pants and his shirt was almost in shreds. Dried blood caked the left side of his jaw and his shoulder was bloodstained where he had wiped his face on it. She could picture him doing this, stumbling along in the dust from the horses with his hands tied behind his back.

“Who is he?” Lizann asked, mildly curious.

Renda was watching Salvaje dismount. “Who?”

“The prisoner?”

“Oh…Bowen.”

“He looks as if he’s already been taught a lesson,” Lizann said.

“Only part of one,” Renda answered. He yelled to Salvaje then, “Bring him over here!”

A Mimbre pulled loose the honda and lifted the reata loop over Bowen’s head, but did not untie his hands. He took Bowen by the arm then and led him to the ramada.

Renda waited. His thumbs were hooked in his belt and he stared at Bowen, studying his face and waiting for Bowen’s eyes to drop or look away. But Bowen continued to return his stare and finally Renda said, “Was it worth it?”

Bowen didn’t answer. Then, he tried to turn his head and bring up his shoulder, seeing Renda suddenly shift his weight, but he was not quick enough and Renda’s fist slashed backhanded across his face.