“Drawing your sword and yelling, ‘Charge,’” Moon said. “It should be something to watch.”

The parlor was semi-dark with only one lamp lit, turned low. When Kate came down the stairs, Janet Pierson turned from the front window.

“Did you rest?”

“A little. I didn't sleep though.”

Kate walked over to the hall tree and took down her husband's suitcoat and holstered revolver. (They had taken him out of the house in his shirt-sleeves, hurrying to get him past the throng of newsmen.)

Watching her, Janet said, “I envy you. I'm not sure why, but I do.”

Kate draped the coat over the back of a chair. Holding the shoulder holster, she slipped the Colt's revolver in and out of the smooth leather groove, then drew the gun and looked at the loads in the chambers as she said, “You don't have to envy anyone. You can do whatever you want with your life.”

“But you know what you want.”

“This minute I do,” Kate said. “I want my husband. If I have to shoot somebody to get him, I will. It's not something I have to think about and decide.” She looked toward the kitchen, at the sound of the back door opening and closing, then at Janet again. “This doesn't mean anything to you personally. Why get mixed up in something just for the sake of taking sides?”

The question was left unanswered. Bren Early came in from the kitchen with saddlebags over one shoulder.

“I haven't seen a soul in front,” Janet said to him.

“Tired of waiting around,” Bren said. “They're in the saloon telling each other stories.” He took the holstered revolver from Kate and slipped it into the saddlebag that hung in front of him. “I still think it'd be better if you waited here.”

Kate shook her head. “I'll be out on the road. If you won't let me any closer-”

“You might hear shooting,” Bren said. “This man wants to make it look real. Stay where you are till Moon gets there. But for some reason he doesn't-he gets delayed or has to ride out the other way, you come back here.”

“What do you mean, gets delayed? I thought it was all arranged.”

“It is. I'm talking about if something happens to change the plan…somebody comes along doesn't know about it. That's all.”

“You're not telling me everything,” Kate said. “What is it?”

“Believe me,” Bren said, “Dana's gonna walk out. But you have to be patient and not spook if you hear a lot of noise. All right? Wait'll I'm gone a few minutes before you leave.”

“I'll be out there before eleven,” Kate said. “By the first bend.”

Janet watched Bren pick up Moon's coat, then lean toward Kate and kiss her on the cheek. Turning he looked at Janet. “I'll be back in a little while.” And went out through the kitchen.

The room was quiet again.

“I don't know what to say to him.” Janet turned to the window to watch for him. He'd ride past the front of the house leading Moon's horse.

“Then don't say anything,” Kate said, walking over to her, her gaze going out the window to the dark street.

“I feel-I don't feel part of him or what any of you are doing.”

“Well, you can come up the mountain for a visit, except I don't think it's a very good time.” Kate paused and put her hand on Janet's shoulder. “Why don't you just marry him and quit thinking about it?”

“You sound like Bren now.”

“If you have to be absolutely sure before you make a move,” Kate said, “then forget it. Else you're gonna be sitting here with cobwebs all over you.”

LaSalle street was quiet: first-shift miners in bed for the night, the second shift still up at the works where dots of lantern light marked the shaft scaffolding and company buildings; the crushing mill was dark, the ore tailings black humps running down the slope.

Sundeen, mounted, came down out of that darkness into the main street, holding his horse to a walk past the store fronts and evenly spaced young trees planted to grow along the sidewalk. The porch of the Congress Hotel was deserted. Lights showed in the lobby and in saloons and upstairs windows down the street. It was quarter to eleven. At the sound of gunfire they'd pour out of the saloons-most of them who were sober or not betting against a pot-the news reporters coming out of their hangout, the Gold Dollar, which was on the northeast corner of LaSalle and Fourth streets. The jail was on the southwest corner, the cellblock extending along Fourth toward Mill Street. On the corner across Fourth from the jail was the Maricopa State Bank. On the corner across LaSalle-where Sundeen now dropped his reins and stepped down from his horse-was the I.S. Weiss Mercantile Store.

Sundeen, looking at the jail and its two lighted windows-the one to the left of the door Bruckner's office-did not see the dark figure sitting on the steps of the bank, catty-corner from him.

When the figure got to its feet Sundeen caught the movement and knew who it was: yes, crossing Fourth Street toward the jail with something dark draped over his shoulder and carrying a short club or something in his left hand. No, not a club. The object gave off a glint and took shape in the light from the jail window and Sundeen saw it was a stubby little shotgun.

Early stopped. He half turned to look across toward the Mercantile Store.

“It isn't gonna be as easy as you thought.”

“What is?” Sundeen said. Shit.

“Where's all your men at?”

“I didn't think I'd need them this evening.”

“Well,” Early said, “you better decide if you're gonna be there when we come out.”

“God damn Bruckner,” Sundeen said. “I think he has got cow shit for brains.”

“No, he's not one to put your money on,” Early said. “Well, I'll see you if you're still gonna be there.” He moved past the jail window toward the front door.

There was nobody to trust, Bruckner had decided. Not a friend, not one of his four deputies. Not in something like this. The chance, if it came, would be there for him alone and he would have to do it himself if he wanted to reap the benefits. And, oh my Lord, the benefits. Both at hand and in the near future, with a saloon-full of news reporters across the street to begin the spread of his fame which would lead to his fortune. All he had to do, at the exact moment when he saw the chance, was pull the trigger three times-at least two times-and in the coming year he would be the Fighting Sheriff of Cochise County…working angles the mine company and the taxpayers never knew existed. Being ready was the key. Here is how he would do it:

Early sticks his head in the door, gives him the nod.

Unarmed, he goes back to the lockup, thanking the Lord he had put Moon in a cell by himself.

He steps in, Moon steps out, locks him in. As soon as Moon is through the door, into the front part of the jail…

He unlocks the cell with a spare key, goes through to the front, gets the loaded shotgun and peacemaker from under the cabinet…

Runs to the door-maybe hearing Sundeen's gunfire about then-and opens up on them with the shotgun, close behind, while they're busy with Sundeen.

Then, as Sundeen comes across the street-and before anybody is out of the Gold Dollar-blow out Sundeen's lights.

If Sundeen's fire turns them back in the jail, which was possible, he'd bust them as they came through the door. Then step out and shoot Sundeen with the Peacemaker, saying later the man had fired at him after he'd told him to drop his gun, so he'd had no choice but to return fire. (He could hear himself telling it, saying something about being sworn to enforce the law, by God, no matter who the armed men were he had to face.) Killing the two should buy him the ticket to the county seat; but he would like to notch up Sundeen also, long as he was at it.

In case of an unexpected turn-if he somehow lost his weapons and found himself at close quarters, he had a two-shot bellygun under his vest, pressing into his vitals.