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telling the segundo anything with his gaze, looking at him as he would look at any man, if he wanted to look at a man, or as he would look at a horse or a dog or a steer or an object that was something to look at. But as he saw the segundo staring back at him he realized that he was telling the segundo something after all. Good. He had nothing to lose and now was aware of himself staring at the segundo.
    What can you do? he was saying to the segundo. You can kill me. Or one of them can kill me not meaning to. But what else can you do to me? You want me to get down on my knees? You don’t have enough bullets, man, and you know it. So what can you do to me? Tell me.
    The segundo raised his hand and called out, “Enough!” in English and in Spanish and in English again. He walked between the fires to Bob Valdez and said, “You ride out now.”
    Bob Valdez took his hat off, adjusting it, loosening it on his head. He didn’t touch his face to wipe away the brick dust and sweat or look at his hands, though he felt blood on his knuckles and running down between his fingers.
    He said, “If you’re through,” and walked away from the segundo. He mounted the company horse and rode out the gate, the segundo watching him until he was into the darkness and only a faint sound of him remained.
     
     
    The men were talking and reloading, spinning the cylinders of their revolvers, sitting by the fires to rest and to tell where they had put their bullets. The segundo walked away from them out into the yard, listening to the silence. After a few minutes he went under the ramada to enter the adobe.
    The station man, Gregorio Sanza, behind the plank bar and beneath the smoking oil lamp, raised a mescal bottle to the segundo, pale yellow in the light; but the segundo shook his head; he walked over to the long table where Tanner was sitting with the woman. She was sipping a tin cup of coffee.
    The woman had gone into a sleeping room shortly after they had arrived in the buggy and had remained there until now. The segundo saw she was still dressed and he wondered what she had been doing in the room. In the months she had been with them — since Tanner had brought her over from Fort Huachuca — the segundo could count the times he had spoken to her on his hands. She seldom asked for anything; she never gave the servants orders as the woman of the house was supposed to do. Still, she had the look of a woman who would be obeyed. She did not seem afraid or uneasy; she looked into your eyes when she spoke to you; she spoke loud enough yet quietly. But something was going on in her head beneath the long gold-brown hair that hung past her shoulders. She was a difficult woman to understand because she did not give herself away. Except that she smiled only a little, and he had never seen her laugh. Maybe she laughed when she was alone with Señor Tanner.
    If she was my woman, the segundo was thinking, I could make her laugh and scream and bite.
    He said to Tanner, “The man’s gone.”
    “How did he behave?”
    “He stood up.”
    Tanner drew on the fresh cigar he was smoking. “He did, uh?”
    “As well as a man can do it.”
    “He didn’t beg?”
    The segundo shook his head. “He said nothing.”
    “He shot the nigger square,” Tanner said. “He did that well. But outside, I thought he would crawl.”
    The segundo shook his head again. “No crawling or begging.”
    “All right, tell that man to close his bar and go to bed.”
    The segundo nodded and moved off.
    Tanner waited until the segundo had stopped at the bar and had gone outside. “Why don’t you go to bed, too,” he said to the woman.
    “I will in a minute.” She kept her finger in the handle of the coffee cup.
    “Go in and pretty yourself up,” he said then. “I’ll take a turn around the yard and be in directly.”
    “What did the man do?”
    “He wasted my time.”
    “So they put him against the wall?”
    “It was the way he spoke to me,” Tanner said. “I