“Easy!” I cautioned Milk River, and stood up. But I didn’t raise my hands.
“The excitement’s over,” I called. “Come on down.”
Ten minutes passed. Peery rode into the light. His square-jawed face was grime-streaked and grim. His horse was muddy lather all over. His guns were in his hands.
Behind him rode Dunne—as dirty, as grim, as ready with his firearms.
Nobody followed Dunne. The others were spread around us in the darkness, then.
Peery leaned over his pony’s head to look at Big ’Nacio, who was lying breathlessly still on the ground.
“Dead?”
“No—a slug through hand and leg. I’ve got some of his friends under lock and key indoors.”
Mad red rims showed around Peery’s eyes in the firelight.
“You can keep the others,” he said harshly. “This hombre will do us.”
I didn’t misunderstand him.
“I’m keeping all of them.”
“I ain’t got a damned bit of confidence in you,” Peery growled down at me. “You ain’t done nothing since you been here, and it ain’t likely you