if it was humanly possible. It wasn't in his makeup to do anything else. And that was something Billy would have to understand. Then it occurred to him for the first time that Billy didn't know he'd pinned on a star.
Willie grunted hopelessly and upped the horse to a gallop.
***
AS IT TURNED TWILIGHT , Willie said to Kumquikit, the venerable elder of the local Yavapais, "Not six. Four trackers on the best horses you've got." He held up four fingers because the old man didn't hear too well. "Two dollars a day and grub."
The Apaches had better trackers, but it would have taken him another six hours to round them up. He'd used the Yavapais once before.
Kumquikit shrewdly kept his face a blank.
Willie repeated himself. Several of the Indians had lit pine-knot torches that cast a mellow glow in front of the hogans. Several women peered out, bashful children at their knees.
Finally the old man said stolidly, "Three dollar."
"Two fifty," Willie bargained, slicing off half a hand in gesture. He glanced over toward the small group of observing Yavapais, settling his eyes on one in particular, a handsome Indian in his early thirties. He wore white men's clothing. "And I want Big Eye."
Big Eye smiled thinly. He was one of the few Yavapais with schooling. Resentful and arrogant at times, he was still an expert tracker. He spoke English fluently.
"Three dollar," Kumquikit insisted, drawing into a mask of stubbornness.
"You're talkin' about taxpayer money, Kumquikit," Willie said with annoyance. "But it comes out of my pocket first. Last time you agreed to two dollars. Nothin' has changed since. I'll give you two fifty. No more"
Kumquikit's face remained a mask.
A sudden pounding of hooves interrupted the bargaining. Kumquikit looked past Willie up the shadowy road.
Willie turned in that direction, too, squinting.
Five white men were riding down on the wickiups, three abreast and two trailing. Willie frowned, sensing their arrival might have something to do with him.
Then they drew up in the flickering circle of reddish light. Willie recognized Clem Bates, Polkton's freight boss and a Wilson ally. Beside him was Earl Cole, staring belligerently as usual. By Cole was Dobbs, the lean-hipped import from Tombstone whom Willie suspected of the bushwhacking. The other two men, whom Willie knew slightly, were mule skinners, Bates's employees.
Clem took a short cold cigar from his lips, staying up on his horse "Evenin', Sheriff. Sam Pine told us you'd be out here."
Wondering what they had in mind, then making a stab at it, Willie eyed them individually and answered, as cordially as he could, "I'm tryin' to reason with Kumquikit to save some taxpayer money. Maybe you can persuade him, Clem."
Bates shook his head. "That's not why we're here. Pete Wilson thought you might need some help. We're sort of a posse."
Willie eyed Bates.
Sort of a posse?
"Oh? Well, that's very nice of Pete. But, Clem, you can ride back to town an' tell him no thanks."
Bates glanced over at Cole, then said steadily, "He doesn't quite feel that way. He swore us in as deputies. We're ridin' with you."
Willie rubbed the back of his neck and said tiredly, "I do hate to disagree with the territorial attorney again. But not this time, Clem. I appreciate the offer, but I'm hirin' trackers."
Cole shifted in his saddle, reaching up to pluck a persimmon off an overhanging branch. The fruit was big and ripe. He took a bite and then lifted his eyes to Willie. "P.J. don't want Billy Bonney to get to Mexico. He figures you just might accidentally let him. So we're goin' with you, Sheriff. Call it insurance."
"So somebody can 'accidentally' shoot me in the back again?"
He caught Dobbs's warning glance at Cole.
The rancher did not react. "That's your problem, Sheriff," he said calmly.
Willie stared at the big man from Cave Flat. In height they were about the same, but Cole was a good forty pounds heavier, with arms the size of stovepipes. There was no question that
Willie grunted hopelessly and upped the horse to a gallop.
***
AS IT TURNED TWILIGHT , Willie said to Kumquikit, the venerable elder of the local Yavapais, "Not six. Four trackers on the best horses you've got." He held up four fingers because the old man didn't hear too well. "Two dollars a day and grub."
The Apaches had better trackers, but it would have taken him another six hours to round them up. He'd used the Yavapais once before.
Kumquikit shrewdly kept his face a blank.
Willie repeated himself. Several of the Indians had lit pine-knot torches that cast a mellow glow in front of the hogans. Several women peered out, bashful children at their knees.
Finally the old man said stolidly, "Three dollar."
"Two fifty," Willie bargained, slicing off half a hand in gesture. He glanced over toward the small group of observing Yavapais, settling his eyes on one in particular, a handsome Indian in his early thirties. He wore white men's clothing. "And I want Big Eye."
Big Eye smiled thinly. He was one of the few Yavapais with schooling. Resentful and arrogant at times, he was still an expert tracker. He spoke English fluently.
"Three dollar," Kumquikit insisted, drawing into a mask of stubbornness.
"You're talkin' about taxpayer money, Kumquikit," Willie said with annoyance. "But it comes out of my pocket first. Last time you agreed to two dollars. Nothin' has changed since. I'll give you two fifty. No more"
Kumquikit's face remained a mask.
A sudden pounding of hooves interrupted the bargaining. Kumquikit looked past Willie up the shadowy road.
Willie turned in that direction, too, squinting.
Five white men were riding down on the wickiups, three abreast and two trailing. Willie frowned, sensing their arrival might have something to do with him.
Then they drew up in the flickering circle of reddish light. Willie recognized Clem Bates, Polkton's freight boss and a Wilson ally. Beside him was Earl Cole, staring belligerently as usual. By Cole was Dobbs, the lean-hipped import from Tombstone whom Willie suspected of the bushwhacking. The other two men, whom Willie knew slightly, were mule skinners, Bates's employees.
Clem took a short cold cigar from his lips, staying up on his horse "Evenin', Sheriff. Sam Pine told us you'd be out here."
Wondering what they had in mind, then making a stab at it, Willie eyed them individually and answered, as cordially as he could, "I'm tryin' to reason with Kumquikit to save some taxpayer money. Maybe you can persuade him, Clem."
Bates shook his head. "That's not why we're here. Pete Wilson thought you might need some help. We're sort of a posse."
Willie eyed Bates.
Sort of a posse?
"Oh? Well, that's very nice of Pete. But, Clem, you can ride back to town an' tell him no thanks."
Bates glanced over at Cole, then said steadily, "He doesn't quite feel that way. He swore us in as deputies. We're ridin' with you."
Willie rubbed the back of his neck and said tiredly, "I do hate to disagree with the territorial attorney again. But not this time, Clem. I appreciate the offer, but I'm hirin' trackers."
Cole shifted in his saddle, reaching up to pluck a persimmon off an overhanging branch. The fruit was big and ripe. He took a bite and then lifted his eyes to Willie. "P.J. don't want Billy Bonney to get to Mexico. He figures you just might accidentally let him. So we're goin' with you, Sheriff. Call it insurance."
"So somebody can 'accidentally' shoot me in the back again?"
He caught Dobbs's warning glance at Cole.
The rancher did not react. "That's your problem, Sheriff," he said calmly.
Willie stared at the big man from Cave Flat. In height they were about the same, but Cole was a good forty pounds heavier, with arms the size of stovepipes. There was no question that
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