Valdez shook his head. People dont have anything to talk about.
Listen, the woman doesnt need any money. She doesnt know what it is.
But we know, Valdez said. I just want to ask you something about Tanner.
Diego Luz drew on his cigarette and squinted out into the sunlight, down the slope to the horse corral. I know what others know. Thats all.
He lives in Mimbreno?
For about two years maybe.
How do the people like him?
There are no people. Most of them left at the time of the Apache. The rest of them left when Frank Tanner come. Hes there with his men, Diego Luz said,
and some of their women.
How many men?
At least thirty. Sometimes more.
Do they ever come here?
Sometimes they pass by.
What do they do, anything?
They have a drink of water and go on.
They never make any trouble?
No, they dont bother me. Never.
Maybe because you work for Maricopa.
Diego Luz shrugged. What do I have they would want?
Horses, Valdez said.
Once they asked to buy a string. I told them to see Mr. Malson.
Did Tanner himself come?
No, his segundo and some others.
Do you know any of them?
No, I dont think any of them are from around here.
Do you think thats strange?
No, these are guns he hires, not hands. I think they hear of Tanner and what he pays and they come from all over to get a job with him.
He pays good, uh?
You see them sometimes in St. David, Diego Luz said. They spend the money. But you see different ones each time, so maybe he lose some in Mexico or they get a stomach full of it and quit.
What, driving cattle?
Cattle and guns. He gets the guns somewhere and sneaks them over the border to people who are against Diaz and want to start a revolution. So over there the rurales and federal soldiers look for him and try to stop him. Everybody knows that.
Ive been learning the stageline business, Valdez said.
Keep doing it, Diego Luz said, and live to be an old man.
Sometimes I feel old now. He watched the chickens pecking the hard ground and heard Diego Luzs children calling out something and laughing as they played somewhere on the other side of the house. What do you need besides this? he was thinking. To have a place, a family. Very quiet except for the children sometimes, and no trouble. No Apaches. No bandits raiding from across the border. Trees and water and a good house. The house could be fixed up better. A little work, thats all. He said, Ill trade you. I become the horsebreaker, you work for the stage company.
Diego Luz was looking out at the yard. You want this?
Why not? Its a good place.
If I had something to do I wouldnt be here.
You do all right, Valdez said.
Do it forever, Diego Luz said. See how you like it.
Maybe sometime. After I see this Tanner.
Diego Luz was studying Valdezs horse. You dont have a rifle either.
What do I need it for?
Maybe you meet a couple of them on a trail, they dont like your face.
Ill talk to them, Valdez said.
Maybe they dont let you talk.
Come on, they know who I am. Im going there to talk, thats all.
You talk better with a rifle, Diego Luz said. I give you mine.
From habit, approaching the top of the rise before he would be outlined for a moment against the sky Bob Valdez looked back the way he had come, his eyes, half-closed in the suns glare, holding on the rock shapes and darker patches of brush at the bottom of the draw. He sat motionless until he was sure of the movement, then dismounted and led his claybank mare off the trail to one side, up into young pinon pines.
For a few moments he did not think of the rider coming up behind him; he thought of his own reaction, the caution that had stopped him from topping the rise. There were no more Chiricahuas or White Mountain bands around here. There was nothing to worry about to keep him alert and listening and looking back as well as to the sides and ahead. But he had stopped. Sure, habit, he thought. Something hanging on of no use to him now.
What difference did it make who the man was? The man wasnt following him. The man was riding southeast from the St. David road and must have left the road not far back to cut cross-country toward Mimbreno maybe, or to a village across the border. Sure, it could be one of Tanners men. You can ride in with him, Valdez thought, and smiled at the idea of it. He would see who it was and maybe he would come out of the pines, giving the man some warning first, or maybe he wouldnt.
Now, as the man drew nearer, for some reason he was sure it was one of the Maricopa riders: the slouched, round-shouldered way the man sat his saddle, the funneled brim of his hat bobbing up and down with the walking movement of the horse.
Maybe he had known all the time who it was going to be. That was a funny thing. Because when he saw it was R. L. Davis, looking at the ground or deep in thought, the stringy, mouthy one who thought he was good with the Winchester, Valdez was not surprised, though he said to himself, Goddam. How do you like that?
He let him go by, up over the rise and out of sight, while he stayed in the pines to shape a cigarette and light it, wondering where the