for a moment, feelin g a sudden faintness. Then he turned and led the horse toward her. "We had better g o in," he said. "I do not trust the night."
He was close to her, and she smelled the staleness of sweat, the smell of horse an d old leather, of sage, cedar, and wood smoke. She sensed suddenly that this man wa s very near to collapse; she could almost feel the tiredness of him.
The thought came to her suddenly as they started to walk inside the canyon. It wa s a startling, shocking thought but even while she knew it could not be true, she wa s afraid, and had to ask.
"You aren't . . . you aren't Tom Sanifer?"
"No," he said. "Tom Sanifer is dead. He was killed at Fort Bowie by a man named Ada m Stark."
Chapter Five.
W hen he had closed the door behind him he said, "I'm Swante Taggart."
"You'll be wanting to wash," Adam said. "There's water in the bucket, and a basi n beside it."
Taggart did not move, but stood, hat in hand, ashamed to invade this quiet place.
"No aim to barge in," he said, "only I played out of grub ... three days back."
Adam noted the size of the man, the faded Army shirt and the worn shotgun chaps.
He noted also the hang of the gun and the way the man carried a Winchester as i f born with it. "You've come far."
"I've a man behind me."
"We've asked no questions," Adam said. "You're hungry. You'll eat."
"I can go on ... I've no right to bring you trouble. That man who's behind me ... h e's the Law."
"You didn't have to tell me that," Adam said quietly. "My sister will get you food."
Taggart dipped up water in the gourd dipper and poured it into the tin basin, likin g the sound of it. The bucket was full, the water clear and dark in the shadows a t the side of the room, but it was more water than he had seen since he left the Verde.
Miriam put a plate of beef and beans on the table, with a small dish of squaw cabbage , and then brought the blackened pot from the fireplace. As she filled his cup he looke d at her hands. They were not dainty, but slender, long-fingered woman's hands, an d somehow the seeing of them made him go all quiet inside.
They were gentle hands, strong hands, capable hands; the y were the hands of a woman, a mother, a woman to walk beside a man, not behind him.
He looked down at the food before him with sudden helplessness. He bowed his head , not in prayer, but only to prevent their seeing his emotion, and when he picked u p his fork he did it almost with reverence. He put a few of the beans into his mout h and began to chew slowly, savoring each taste.
It is only those who have never been hungry who picture a starving man as gorgin g himself when he first finds food. Taggart was terribly hungry, but he had been s o long without food that his stomach had shrunk, and for this first meal he would b e able to eat very little. Tomorrow and the next day he would be unable to get enough , but now it was taste he wanted, and flavor. He ate slowly, pausing from time to tim e to drink great gulps of coffee.
The beans had been baked over a fire of creosote wood and had that extraordinar y flavor that only creosote smoke can give. The coffee was strong, hot, and black , and it seemed to bring new strength to him.
After a dozen bites he sat back and rolled a smoke. He felt the eyes of the Mexica n girl upon him, dark, magnificent eyes, and she was a woman who made a man consciou s of his maleness.
"This is Consuelo," Adam Stark said, "my wife. And," he gestured to Miriam, "my sister , Miriam. I am Adam Stark." Swante Taggart's head came up and Miriam was beside hi m with the coffee pot and she nudged him slightly. The question half-formed remaine d unasked.
Adam Stark ... the man who had killed Tom Sanifer.
Stark had walked into a saloon where Sanifer stood at the bar, and had told him h e did not fight before women, but if he wanted to die, to make his fight there. An d Tom Sanifer had backed down.
An hour later, when Stark left the saloon, Sanifer had been waiting for
He was close to her, and she smelled the staleness of sweat, the smell of horse an d old leather, of sage, cedar, and wood smoke. She sensed suddenly that this man wa s very near to collapse; she could almost feel the tiredness of him.
The thought came to her suddenly as they started to walk inside the canyon. It wa s a startling, shocking thought but even while she knew it could not be true, she wa s afraid, and had to ask.
"You aren't . . . you aren't Tom Sanifer?"
"No," he said. "Tom Sanifer is dead. He was killed at Fort Bowie by a man named Ada m Stark."
Chapter Five.
W hen he had closed the door behind him he said, "I'm Swante Taggart."
"You'll be wanting to wash," Adam said. "There's water in the bucket, and a basi n beside it."
Taggart did not move, but stood, hat in hand, ashamed to invade this quiet place.
"No aim to barge in," he said, "only I played out of grub ... three days back."
Adam noted the size of the man, the faded Army shirt and the worn shotgun chaps.
He noted also the hang of the gun and the way the man carried a Winchester as i f born with it. "You've come far."
"I've a man behind me."
"We've asked no questions," Adam said. "You're hungry. You'll eat."
"I can go on ... I've no right to bring you trouble. That man who's behind me ... h e's the Law."
"You didn't have to tell me that," Adam said quietly. "My sister will get you food."
Taggart dipped up water in the gourd dipper and poured it into the tin basin, likin g the sound of it. The bucket was full, the water clear and dark in the shadows a t the side of the room, but it was more water than he had seen since he left the Verde.
Miriam put a plate of beef and beans on the table, with a small dish of squaw cabbage , and then brought the blackened pot from the fireplace. As she filled his cup he looke d at her hands. They were not dainty, but slender, long-fingered woman's hands, an d somehow the seeing of them made him go all quiet inside.
They were gentle hands, strong hands, capable hands; the y were the hands of a woman, a mother, a woman to walk beside a man, not behind him.
He looked down at the food before him with sudden helplessness. He bowed his head , not in prayer, but only to prevent their seeing his emotion, and when he picked u p his fork he did it almost with reverence. He put a few of the beans into his mout h and began to chew slowly, savoring each taste.
It is only those who have never been hungry who picture a starving man as gorgin g himself when he first finds food. Taggart was terribly hungry, but he had been s o long without food that his stomach had shrunk, and for this first meal he would b e able to eat very little. Tomorrow and the next day he would be unable to get enough , but now it was taste he wanted, and flavor. He ate slowly, pausing from time to tim e to drink great gulps of coffee.
The beans had been baked over a fire of creosote wood and had that extraordinar y flavor that only creosote smoke can give. The coffee was strong, hot, and black , and it seemed to bring new strength to him.
After a dozen bites he sat back and rolled a smoke. He felt the eyes of the Mexica n girl upon him, dark, magnificent eyes, and she was a woman who made a man consciou s of his maleness.
"This is Consuelo," Adam Stark said, "my wife. And," he gestured to Miriam, "my sister , Miriam. I am Adam Stark." Swante Taggart's head came up and Miriam was beside hi m with the coffee pot and she nudged him slightly. The question half-formed remaine d unasked.
Adam Stark ... the man who had killed Tom Sanifer.
Stark had walked into a saloon where Sanifer stood at the bar, and had told him h e did not fight before women, but if he wanted to die, to make his fight there. An d Tom Sanifer had backed down.
An hour later, when Stark left the saloon, Sanifer had been waiting for
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