"He got it somewhere," Lazair said. "My men followed and he ambushed them."

Duro shook his head slowly, considering this. "No…it could not have been Santana."

"You know goddamn well it was!"

"I swear I know nothing of this!"

"Who else is there?"

"Apaches."

"They'd a been messier."

Duro was silent, his eyes roaming the room slowly, but picturing other things. He said suddenly, bringing his palm down slapping the desk. "The other American! He's not been here for two days!"

"One man couldn't have raised all that hell."

"Maybe we don't know him," Duro said thoughtfully.

Lazair half smiled. "But I know you…and I've got eyes…counting your money…all dressed up for a trip…"

"Listen…I swear on the grave of my mother I know nothing of this! I am counting this now to pay you what is owed…putting it aside to have it ready for you…you come at odd times, so I considered: The next time he comes it will be ready-" Duro hesitated and smiled at Lazair confidently. "Look…this is silly what you've been thinking. Let's have a drink now, together, and then I'll finish counting this."

He nodded to the sack in Lazair's hand. "You have more. Good. I'll pay you for those too; and then the account will be up to date. How many do you have there? No-wait until after we have a drink. This is a feast day, we should have a drink together." He looked suddenly in the direction of the square then back to Lazair. "Was that a shot?"

Lazair did not move. "That one was off somewhere. It's the one that rings in your ear for half a second that you worry about. Then it's all over." He said it with his hand on the gun butt and the meaning was clear.

"Everyone talks of death today," Duro said, and made himself laugh. "But look, even with the talking of death there is an equal amount of drinking." He said then, winking, "You know you can frighten the devil only so long. When there is no more mescal he comes and inserts a demon in your head. Now the demon hates this confinement and he runs from one side to the other butting at the sensitive walls of one's head." He raised a hand to his forehead and the fingers spread over the shape of it delicately. "Senor," he said, smiling through a frown which was meant to indicate a headache, "would you kindly consent to a glass of something?"

Lazair did not smile. He looked at Duro silently and his contempt for the rurale lieutenant was in his eyes, in the features that did not move, and grimly evident in the hard line of his mouth. "Get your drink," he said curtly. Duro started from the desk and Lazair added, "I'm right behind you."

He stood in the doorway to the sleeping room and watched Duro take a fresh bottle of mescal from the cupboard next to the bed, then stepped aside as Duro passed him, going to the desk again. Duro sat down and as he opened the desk drawer, Lazair said, "If you're smart you'll just come out with glasses."

Duro looked up. "Of course."

They drank in silence, Duro filling the glasses quickly as they were emptied; Lazair watching him, in no hurry, wondering what Duro would do, willing to take all the time necessary to find out.

Duro looked up suddenly. "Did you hear it? Another one!"

Lazair was half sitting with his left hip on the edge of the desk, resting the mescal glass on his thigh. He looked down at Duro calmly. "You hear all kinds of noises during a fiesta."

But with the sudden bursts of gunfire that followed, Lazair came off the desk. He moved to the door quickly, still holding his drink, still half watching Duro, and as the rurale lieutenant started to rise, Lazair snapped, "Stay where you are!"

He opened the door and the sound of a running horse rose from the square. He saw the rider, one of his men, reaching a side street and the rurales in front of the cantina firing after him.

The glass flew out of Lazair's hand shattering against the desk and in that instant a pistol was in his right hand pointed at Duro. "You didn't know!"

He wanted to pull the trigger. It rushed to his mind, but a judgment was already there; it had prevented him from killing Duro before and now it was there again with its cold reason making him slow down, making him grip the pistol tighter. If he killed Duro he would be through. Not just in this part of Sonora, but everywhere in Mexico. He'd have to go back to the States, where he was wanted, and spend the rest of his life on the dodge. He'd have to take his chances in the States because if he were caught he'd be better off than if he were pulled in by the Mexican authorities. That's what stopped him. Don't throw away a good thing: a safe place to live and a profitable business just because of one man. But it occurred to Lazair then, at that moment, that Duro was through. The only thing was, this wasn't the time or the place.

More calmly he said to Duro, "You didn't know, eh…?"

"I swear to Almighty God I didn't! What happened out there?" Duro was rising again.

"Stay put!" Lazair snapped. He looked at Duro and then out again. He kept his eyes on the front of the mescal shop and when Santana and two rurales came out, shouting, mounting their horses, Lazair pulled the door quickly, almost closed, and watched them through an inch opening. They came toward the house, shouting something. When they were directly below, Lazair could not see them, but he heard Duro's name and suddenly they were riding away-four of them now, the last one, the rurale who had been on guard, on Lazair's mount.

Lazair looked at Duro and his gaze held steadily. "Something's going on. Santana and the two with him had a jug of mescal in each hand. They stopped here then rode off toward the rurale camp."

"They always drink after a patrol," Duro said.

"They were hollering something about you."

"What?"

"I couldn't make it out."

"Perhaps calling out to me."

"Does he do that often?"

Duro hesitated. "No…"

"Something's going on," Lazair said again. He waited, watching the square, feeling a tension that he could not understand. After a few minutes it occurred to him to run over to the mescal shop to see what had happened, then keep going to camp and move it someplace else before doing anything. There would be time enough to pay back Duro.

Looking out over the square he saw them as soon as they appeared from the side street and started across the openness. He was not sure how many there were at first, because they seemed to be all wearing peon clothes with so much white blending together, from this distance a crowd of white cotton with darker spots that were faces and straw sombreros. Then he realized there were not as many as he thought. Perhaps ten altogether. And-the two cavalrymen! He squinted, watching them come closer, making sure, and when he was certain they were coming here he glanced at Duro.

"Come here…you've got company."

Duro rose, hesitantly now. "Who? I don't hear anyone."

"You will."

"Who is it?"

"See for yourself."

Lazair opened the door, taking Duro's arm, and pushed him suddenly out to the veranda. He closed the door again, seeing Duro, seeing Duro's eyes as he turned. Lazair pushed his pistol threateningly through the door opening and Duro turned back toward the square.

Hilario pointed with the Burnside. "There he is."

Bowers said curiously, "Was that someone behind him?"

"It looked like it," Flynn said. He looked up, watching Duro, noticing the man's hesitancy, his reluctance to stand at the rail and look down at them.

"He seems afraid," Hilario whispered.

"He should be," Flynn said. "If he heard Santana."

Watching Duro, Hilario said, "If I were to raise this barrel two inches, and pull the trigger, it would be accomplished."

Flynn said, "You know better than that."

"I wish I did not," Hilario answered. And now he called out, "Senor Duro, we would speak with you."