It was the Mexican who got Braden out of there. He came up over on the other side of the crushing mill and brought Braden down the same way, keeping the crushing mill between us and them so they wouldn’t get shot at.

Early came out of the veranda shade to help the Mexican take Braden inside: Early looking back like he was afraid Russell would open up again, and Braden walking but dragging his legs and leaning on the two men. He had been shot up good.

Mr. Braden, I thought to myself. Meet John Russell.

But was our situation any better?

Maybe. Depending on Braden. If he was hurt bad enough, they would have to get him to a bed or a doctor. So for a while we watched with that hope. But the hope kept getting smaller and smaller as time passed and nobody rode out from the company building.

When there was no doubt but they were staying, Henry Mendez started on Russell again. Why did you have to do that? Why didn’t you let things just happen? he kept saying. It would be worse for us now, Mendez was sure. And it was Russell’s fault.

“Nothing is different,” Russell said. In other words, they could be mad or shot up or hungry or drunk, they’d still try to kill us. When you thought about it, you knew it was true.

While Mendez and Russell were together I brought up the idea of getting out the way we’d come in.

They’d shoot us off the wall as we climbed up, was Mendez’s answer. “Not when it’s dark,” Russell said; you saw he was thinking of ways.

So far, you will notice, no one had said Russell should give them the money in exchange for Mrs. Favor: do what Braden wanted and see what would happen, not just guess. Maybe because it would be wasting breath to mention it to Russell. Or maybe because no one was thinking of Mrs. Favor at that time.

Well, that changed as soon as the Mexican brought her out. Maybe an hour had passed from the time Braden was shot. (It’s hard to remember now the different spaces of time.) It had been so quiet over there. Then the Mexican was coming out across the open with Mrs. Favor in front of him. Her hands were tied and there was a length of rope, like a dog leash, tied around her neck with the Mexican holding the other end.

He brought her all the way out to the ore-cart tracks that came down from the crushing mill and made her sit down there. Kneeling, he tied the leash to one of the rails, keeping Mrs. Favor in front of him as he did. He drew his left-hand Colt then, holding his right elbow tight against his side, and ran to a little shed that was just above and over a few yards.

He surprised us then. Instead of going back, keeping the shed in line with us as a cover, he made a run all the way across a pretty open stretch to the crushing mill.

Picture him about forty yards down and over to our left; Mrs. Favor straight down, looking small sitting there and staring up at the shack, about eighty yards away.

It was while the Mexican was making his run that Early came out carrying a rifle and moved off toward the south pass on foot. I did not have to think about it long. Early was circling around to get behind us, closing the back door whether we wanted to use it or not.

That’s what Russell said too. He was still at the window watching the corner of the crushing mill where the Mexican was. The McLaren girl asked him where Early was going and Russell said, “Behind us,” not taking his eyes off the crushing mill; the Mexican had not shown himself yet.

Dr. Favor, at this time, was at the other window looking down at his wife. It was a strange thing, while he was there no one else went out to the window, as if letting him be alone with her. But he did not stay too long; he walked away and lit up a cigar and sat down, I guess to think some more.

The McLaren girl and Mendez and I finally found ourselves at that window, where we stayed just about all the rest of the time we were there. Of course we kept looking at Mrs. Favor.

Remember Braden saying, “We’ll let you look at the woman while you talk?” He knew what he was doing.

She sat there between the ore-cart tracks looking up this way most of the time. We soon learned that she could not stand up straight; the rope tied to her neck was not long enough. She could get in a bent-over position, but that was all. For a time she tried to undo the rope end tied to the track, but evidently the Mexican had tied it too tight.

So she just sat there out in the open with the sun getting higher all the time, sometimes brushing her hair out of her face or picking things off her skirt. The way she would look up-my gosh-you knew what she was thinking. But she certainly was calm about it, not even crying once. It was not till a little later we found out they had not given her any water.

It was after the Mexican started on Russell.

He yelled out from the corner of the crushing mill, just showing part of his head for a second, “Hey, hombre! How do you like that woman?…You want her?…We give her to you!” Things like that.

John Russell did not answer. Except he put his face against the stock of the Spencer and the front sight on the corner of the crushing mill.

The Mexican waited a while. Then he yelled, “If you want that, hombre, you better hurry! Maybe there won’t be nothing left in the sun!”

It was about 10 o’clock by then, maybe a little earlier.

Then the Mexican yelled, “Man, why don’t you come out and give her a drink of water? She hasn’t had none…not since yesterday morning!”

There he was, just a little part of him at the corner, and bam the Spencer went off and you saw the wood splinter right where the Mexican’s face had been.

It was quiet right after, long enough for us to wonder if Russell had got him. Long enough for the McLaren girl to say, “That woman hasn’t had any water.” Then to Russell: “Did you hear what he said? She hasn’t had water since yesterday.”

Russell was watching the corner still. The McLaren girl kept staring at him. “Is that why you want to kill him?” she said then. “To shut him up? So you won’t have to hear about her?”

I touched her arm to calm her, but she jerked away. “It won’t help to get fighting among ourselves,” I said.

“Are we all on the same side?” she said. “Do you really think that?”

“Well, we’re all sitting here.”

She was looking at Russell again. “He’s sitting here with twelve thousand dollars of somebody else’s money and that woman is tied like an animal out there in the sun.” She looked at me like somebody should do something.

“Well, what do you want him to do?”

The McLaren girl never answered. The Mexican yelled out again, letting us know he was still alive. “Hey, hombre!” he called out. “You got wood in my eyes!…Come down here and help me get it out!” Honest to gosh, like he thought it was funny to be shot at.

He kept it up, yelling at Russell from time to time, trying to get him outside. We heard from Early a few times too. Rocks coming down on the roof from above: Early still feeling his whisky and being playful, or else just letting us know he was up there and not to try anything.

The McLaren girl was quiet for a while. I guess she had calmed down. The sole of one of her shoes was loose and she kept fooling with it, trying to twist it off, even when she was looking at Mrs. Favor who sat with her shoulders hunched over now and her head down. The McLaren girl could not look at her too long, or fool with that shoe forever.

She started looking at Russell and finally went over and kneeled down next to him. Russell was smoking, sitting back on his feet, the Spencer resting on the ore bags lining the window sill.

“We have to give them the money,” she said, very quietly, “I think you know that.”

He looked at her, not just glancing but taking his time to look at her dark sun-browned face good.

“Like you had to give that one water,” Russell said. Meaning Dr. Favor.