He said, I mean this way. What if she went to court-
Jesus Christ, R. L. Davis said, shaking his head.
What if she went there Valdez kept his eyes on Mr. Beaudry now with a lawyer and
said she wanted to sue everybody that was out there, or this city?
Bob, Mr. Beaudry said, that woman doesnt know what a lawyer is.
But if she did and they went to court, wouldnt she get some money?
The houseman said, I thought we were playing cards.
Since shes never heard of a lawyer or a county seat, Mr. Beaudry said, youre talking straight into the wind, arent you?
I mean if she did. Like if you drive cattle over a mans property and damage something, Bob Valdez went on, holding on, and the man goes to court, then the cattle company has to pay him for the damage. Isnt that right?
Mr. Malson smiled. He said, That doesnt sound like much of a cattle company to me, and the others laughed. I was to get involved in court suits, a man would be out from Chicago and Id be out of a job.
But its happened, Valdez said, staying with it. The person or persons responsible have had to pay.
Mr. Beaudry said, I wouldnt worry about it, Bob.
The person has to stand up and prove damage, Mr. Malson said. You dont go to court, even if you know where it is, without a case. And by that I mean evidence.
All right, Valdez said. Thats what I mean. The woman doesnt know anything about court, but we know about the evidence, uh? Because we were there. If we werent there her husband would be alive.
Or if he hadnt opened the door, Mr. Beaudry said. Or if you hadnt pulled the trigger.
Or, Mr. Malson said, if he hadnt come to town this morning and if Frank Tanner hadnt seen him.
Goddam, I was there, R. L. Davis said. We was on the steps of the Republic.
There you are, Mr. Beaudry said. If Frank Tanner hadnt been here this morning it never would have happened. So maybe its his fault. Tanners.
Somebody in the group behind Mr. Beaudry said, Go tell him that, and some of the men laughed, picturing it.
Now thats not so funny, Mr. Beaudry said. If this happened because of Frank Tanner, then maybe hes to blame. What do you think, Bob? he asked him seriously, patiently, as he would ask a stupid, thick-headed person.
I guess so, Bob Valdez said.
Well, if you think hes to blame, Mr. Beaudry said, why dont you ask him for the money? And Ill tell you what. If he agrees to the five hundred dollars, we will too. Hows that?
Valdez kept his eyes on Mr. Beaudry. I dont know where he is.
Hes south of town, Mr. Beaudry said. Probably at the relay station for the night if his cattle got that far. Or he might have gone on.
He mentioned stopping there, Mr. Malson said.
All right, Valdez said because there was nothing else he could say. Ill go talk to him.
Do that, Mr. Beaudry said.
Mr. Malson waited until Bob Valdez was turning and the men who had crowded in were stepping aside. Bob, he said, that Apache woman somebody said she was over to the hotel trying to get a room.
No. Valdez shook his head. The manager said they were full up.
Uh-huh, Mr. Malson said. Well, where is she now?
I took her to Inezs place, Valdez said. Shes staying there tonight.
Nobody said anything until he was gone. Then R. L. Davis, as drunk as he was, said, Je-sus H. Christ. Now hes turned that Indin creature into a whore.
He went unarmed, riding south through the darkness, feeling the chill of night settling on the land. He didnt want to go; he was tired. He had come up this road this morning from St. David on the bouncing, bucking, creaking boot of the Hatch and Hodges stage, throwing gravel at the wheelers and yelling, urging the horses on as the driver held the heavy reins and snapped them over the teams. Sun and dust this morning, and sweat soaking his body under the dark suit; now cold darkness over the same ruts that stretched across the mesquite flats and climbed through barrancas to crest a hill and drop curving into the endless flats again, forever, it seemed, on the boot or now in the saddle of a stage company horse.
He said in his mind, Mr. Tanner, Im Bob Valdez. You remember, I was out at the pasture today when the man was killed.
When the man was killed. When you killed him, he said to himself.
We were talking about doing something for his wife and Mr. Beaudry, the land agent, said-
He said go out and try to get it from Frank Tanner; you dumb Mexican son of a bitch. Thats what he said. Do you know it?
He knew it. Sure. But what was he supposed to do? Forget about the woman? He had told her they would give her money. God, it would
be easy to forget about her. No, it would be good, but it wouldnt be easy. But with all of them watching him he had had to walk out and get a horse and he would have to ride the ten goddam miles or more to the goddam swing station and, getting it over with, smile and be respectful and ask Mr. Tanner if he would please like to give something for this fat squaw who had lived with Rincon and was having his child.
And Frank Tanner, like the rest of them, would say-