Six hundred pounds of dynamite were brought out of the stable and loaded onto the equipment wagon the next morning. Bowen specified the amount. He remained in the stable until the wagon was loaded and when he came out he was carrying four detonator boxes. One of the boxes had been emptied and in it was Lizann Falvey’s. 25-caliber Colt.
Bowen drove the equipment wagon. He took it over the Five Shadows slope, down into the canyon and to the foot of the trail that reached silently up into the early morning sunlight. The floor of the canyon was in shadow and there was little talk as the dynamite was unloaded.
“We’ll take eight cases up,” Bowen told Renda. “Leave the other four down here. Maybe we’ll use them, but I don’t think so.”
Renda pointed to eight men in turn, and approximately fifteen minutes later the dynamite was up on the rim of the canyon. The eight men returned to the convicts working on the ledge, spreading the results of the previous day’s last explosion. And now the dynamite crew was alone with Brazil.
They were ready to plant the first charge when Willis Falvey came up the trail. He passed them without a word, without even looking to see what they were doing, kicked his dun horse up through the draw and rode along the rim until he was beyond the end of the canyon.
The way you’re going, Bowen thought, watching him disappear into the deep shadow of the pass which led down to the boulder field beyond the canyon.
Through a mile of rock and across the meadow, Bowen thought. Up past the road, straight over the hill and down the grade. Cross the creek, come out of the willows. You’re there.
Brazil’s voice brought him back to the ledge. “You going to light the fuse?”
Bowen lit it. They went back to the draw to wait for the explosion and Bowen watched Brazil. The gunman squinted, his mouth open and tensed, waiting, and he seemed to be smiling, keenly anticipating what was to come.
And when it came, more suddenly than they could be ready for it, the rock-shattering, head-numbing violence, the thunder rolling into the distance, somewhere beyond the ringing in their ears, Brazil still smiled.
“Damn!” He shook his head slowly as if the pleasure of it had exhausted him. “I’d like to see what would happen to a man sitting on one of them.”
“You never know,” Pryde said. “Maybe you will.”
Brazil looked at him. “Did you see anybody get blowed up at Yuma?”
“Not me,” Pryde said.
“Did you?” Brazil asked Bowen.
Bowen shook his head.
Brazil seemed disappointed. “Maybe somebody got it before you were there. Didn’t you hear of anybody?”
“I wasn’t listening,” Bowen said.
Brazil grinned. “That would be some sight.”
They went down to the shelf again as Renda and a guard brought up the convicts to do the grading. Bowen looked over the edge. There were still two guards down in the canyon. So he’s got another man on, Bowen thought. One of the night guards.
“That one took more slope,” Renda said. “They hardly got any chipping off to do.”
“We tried a bigger charge,” Bowen told him. “Packing more sticks to the bundle.”
“You go any bigger, we’ll be filling in,” Renda said. His gaze moved along the edge of the shelf, then stopped. Unexpectedly, Bowen saw his face become tensed. He followed Renda’s gaze up canyon and saw a rider moving along the stretch of new road. Now all of them were watching and soon they saw that it was Lizann Falvey.
Brazil said, “What’s she doing up here?”
Renda continued to watch her, his eyes half closed in the sun glare. A swirl of wind blew dust at him, fanning his hatbrim, but he did not turn away from it.
“I never saw her up this far,” Brazil said.
She bothers him, Bowen thought, still watching Renda. All she has to do is show herself and he’s on his guard. You thought it once. Maybe she’s threatening him. Confident she’s leaving and she throws it in his face. Tells him everything but how.
Following Lizann, trailing her perhaps fifty yards, was a Mimbreño. Bowen watched him move off to the east side of the canyon. Lizann had circled and now was riding back toward him, past him, becoming smaller, and soon she was out of sight. But even after she was gone, Renda continued to stare up canyon and a moment later he moved down the shelf.
That’s good, Bowen thought. Give him something else to think about.
Bowen indicated where the next charge would be placed before they moved back up onto the rim. And now they got ready the fuses and the dynamite cartridges they would use.
“I think I’ll light the next one,” Brazil said.
“That’s all you got to do,” Bowen said, “and you’re a dynamite man.”
Brazil was studying his Winchester. “It’s a far size bigger than this.”
Bowen looked toward Manring and nodded. Manring rose, picking up his shovel and started for the draw.
Brazil’s head came up. “They’re not ready for you yet.”
“Earl’s got another job,” Bowen said. He rose as Brazil did and walked over to the edge of the draw. “He’s going to dig that corner where we tested yesterday.”
Brazil frowned. “What for?”
“After a couple of more blasts,” Bowen explained, “we’ll be far enough down to come back to the part we skipped. Earl thought he’d get it ready now if it’s all right with you.”
“Frank know about it?”
“Ask him,” Bowen said. He turned and walked back to Pryde.
Brazil glanced at Manring. “Go on. I’ll see him later.” He squatted then at the edge of the draw where he could watch Bowen and Pryde, to his left, and Manring below and to his right.
“The first step,” Pryde murmured.
Bowen sat down with his back to Brazil. The detonator boxes were in front of him. He raised one box, then another, and raising the third one he felt the weight of the Colt revolver. He lined up the boxes and placed this one on the right.
Now he studied the dark mass of pines that were forty or fifty yards in front of him and he began setting a fuse into the open end of a detonator.
“Ike, have you seen Mimbres?”
“For about a hair of a minute. When we first came up.”
“We have to figure six on this side,” Bowen said. “They don’t like what’s going on, so they stay back in the trees.”
“What would we do if they didn’t mind it?”
“Think of something else.”
“And six more on the other side of the canyon,” Pryde said.
“We’ll think of them when the time comes,” Bowen said. He crimped the open end of the detonator to the fuse. He unwrapped one end of the dynamite cartridge, pushed a twig into it to form an opening, then inserted a detonator.
“How many you going to do?” Pryde asked.
“We’ll have five ready,” Bowen said. “Maybe we won’t use that many, but we’ll have them.”
“Brazil wants to light the fuse,” Pryde said. “It’d be purely simple to leave him with it.”
“Don’t even think about it.”
“I can’t help it. It’s too good not to.”
“Ike, we do it the way I said.”
“I know it. I was just talking.”
Bowen had attached the fuse to the fourth detonator and was inserting it into the cartridge when Brazil called to him. “Earl says he’s ready.”
Rising, Bowen said to Pryde, “Like he works for us.” He picked up a coil of fuse and a detonator and moved down the draw. Pryde followed, a half-full case of dynamite on his shoulder.
Brazil said, “What’re you in such a hurry to plant this one for?”
Bowen dropped the coil, but held an end of it. “Might as well do it now as later.”
“You sure Frank knows about it?”
“Go ask him,” Bowen said. He saw Brazil’s gaze go down into the canyon.
“Frank would’ve told me,” Brazil said.
“He tells you everything?”
Brazil did not answer. He was studying the small figures far below. He said then, “I don’t see him.”