Valdez rolled a cigarette and leaned into the fire to light it, and raising his eyes he saw the woman staring into the light. She sat unmoving; she was in another time, remembering, her hands folded in her lap. She seemed younger at this moment and smaller, this woman who had killed her husband.
Valdez said, You didnt tell anyone?
She shook her head slowly.
Why didnt you?
I dont know. I was afraid. I went back to the post. The next day, after they found him, they asked me questions. I told them Jim had gone out late, but I didnt know where. They told me he was dead and I didnt say anything, because I couldnt pretend to be sorry. When I didnt tell them then, I couldnt tell them later, at the hearing. They decided it must have been the man who deserted, a soldier named Johnson who everybody knew was buying corn beer from the Indians and selling it at the post.
Valdez drew on his cigarette, letting the smoke out slowly. You havent told Frank Tanner?
No. I almost did. But I thought better of it.
Then why did you tell me?
Her eyes raised now in the firelight. I dont know, she said softly. Maybe its this place. Maybe its because I wanted to tell somebody so bad. I just dont know. She paused, and with the soft sound gone from her voice said, Maybe I told you because youre not going to live long enough to tell anyone else.
You want to stay alive, Valdez said. Everybody wants to stay alive.
She was staring at him again. Do you?
Everybody, Valdez said.
Well, remember that when you close your eyes, she said. I killed a man to be free of him, to stay alive.
Ill remember that, Valdez said. Ill remember something else, too, a man lying on his back tied to a cross and someone cutting him loose and giving him water.
He watched closely but there was no change of expression on her face. He said, The man believes a woman did this. He thought the woman had dark hair, because he had been thinking of a woman with dark hair. But maybe he thought it was dark hair because it was night. Maybe it was a woman with light hair. A woman who lived near this place and knew where he was and could find him.
She was listening intently now, hunched forward, her long hair hanging close to her face. She said, It could have been one of the Mexican women.
No, it wasnt one of them, I know that. They live with those men and they would be afraid.
She waited, thoughtful, but still did not move her eyes from his. She said, almost cautiously, You believe Im the woman?
Theres no one else.
She said then, still thoughtful, watching him, If you believe I saved you, why are you doing this to me?
Valdez took a last draw on the cigarette and dropped it in the fire. Im not doing it to you. Im doing it to Frank Tanner.
But if he doesnt give you the money-
Lets see what happens, Valdez said. He got to his knees and spread his blanket so that his feet would be toward the fire.
Gay Erin didnt move. She said, Why do you think I cut you loose?
I dont know. Because you felt sorry for me?
Maybe. She watched him. Or maybe because of Frank. To do something against him.
Youre going to marry him, Valdez said.
He says Im going to marry him.
Well, if you dont want to, why didnt you leave?
Because Ive no place to go. So Ill marry him whether I want to or not. She looked into the fire, moving her hair from the side of her face gently, with the tips of her fingers. I have no family to go to. People I used to know are scattered all over the territory. I think even when I was married to Jim I felt alone. I stayed with him, I guess, for the same reason Im going to marry Frank.
Valdez knelt on his blanket, half turned to look at her. You want to get married so bad, there are plenty of men.
Are there? She got up and smoothed her skirt, standing close to the fire. Where should I spread my blanket?
Where do you want to?
Looking down at him she said, Wherever you tell me.
Look at him again as he looked at himself that night. His name was Roberto Eladio Valdez, born July 23, 1854, in an adobe village on the San Pedro, where the valley land climbed into the Galiuros. His father was a farmer until they moved to Tucson and his father went to work for a freight company and sent his children to the mission school. Roberto Eladio Valdez, born of Mexican parents in the United States Territory of Arizona, a boy who lived in the desert and knew of many people who had been killed by the Apaches, boy to man in the desert and in the mountains, finally working for the Army, leading the Apache trackers when the hostiles jumped San Carlos and went raiding, and finally through with that and deciding it was time to work the land or work for a company, as most men did, and do it now if it wasnt already too late. Roberto Eladio Valdez worked for Hatch and Hodges, and they put him on the boot with the shotgun because he was good with it. He asked the municipal committee of Lanoria for a town job and they made him a part-time constable and put a shotgun in his hands because he was good with it and because he was quiet and because everybody liked him or at least abided him, because he was one of the good ones who kept himself clean and neat, even wearing the starched collar and the suit when everybody else was in shirtsleeves, and never drank too much or was abusive. Remember, there is the Bob Valdez who knew his place, and the one looking for a normal life and a home and a family.