“All the people,” a reporter sitting on the Congress front porch said. You would think the circus was in town. It is, another reporter said; featuring Phil Sundeen and his wild animal show. Christ, look at them. Bunch of range bums and bushwackers trying to pass as Quantrill's guerrillas.

Bren found Maurice Dumas sitting in the lobby staring at nothing. When he asked what was the matter, Maurice said he was thinking of going home; watching innocent people get shot was not his idea of covering a war. Bren said, no, when men fought without honor it was a sorry business.

“But we're gonna teach them a lesson, partner, and I sure hope you're here to see it.”

Maurice perked up. “You're getting into it?”

Bren nodded.

“When?”

“I'll tell you,” Bren said, “this looks like it's gonna be my busy night. If you could help me out some I guarantee you'll be in the front row when the fireworks go off.”

“Get what things done?”

“Find Sundeen first. Tell him I'll meet him at the Chinaman's, the Oriental in about an hour.”

“You mean-”

“Unh-unh,” Bren said, “that's what I don't want to happen by mistake, ahead of time. Tell him I got something important to say. No guns. you'll inspect him and he can have somebody inspect me if he wants. Tell him it's the answer to how to end this deal and that he's gonna like it.”

“I don't know if I can stand to speak to him,” Maurice said.

“Listen, you write this story they'll make you the editor. Don't let personal feelings get in your way. The other thing-” Bren paused, looking around the lobby. He said, “Come on,” and led Maurice to the back hall where the first-floor rooms were located. The light from the wall fixtures was dim, but it was quiet here, private. Bren took a thick envelope from his pocket and handed it to Maurice.

“List of some things I'm gonna need and the money to buy 'em with. Open it.”

Maurice did.

“Put the money in your pocket.”

“Looks like a lot.”

“Two hundred dollars is all.”

Maurice unfolded a sheet of paper. It was Moon's “wanted” dodger.

“You'll see the notes on there I've written.”

“Yeah?” Maurice read them, then gave Bren a funny look, frowning. “You serious? You want this printed?”

“Trust me and don't ask questions, it's part of the scheme,” Bren said. “You'll see where to get everything; it's all on the list. The case of whiskey, buy something good. The pack animal and cross-buck, I wouldn't pay more than fifty dollars. What else? It's going on seven o'clock, how about we meet at the livery stable eleven thirty, quarter of twelve. Sound good?”

“I don't know if I can have everything by then.” Maurice looked worried now.

But not Bren. He said, “Hey, are you kidding me? Anybody rises as early as you is a natural-born go-getter.”

Vandozen, seated in the middle of the settee, seemed to blend with the room, belong: formal but relaxed in his light-gray business suit and wing collar; pinch-nose glasses hanging from a black ribbon, resting on his vest.

Janet Pierson said, “Mr. Vandozen is here.” Saying it as Bren came through the kitchen and the two men were already face to face. “He's been waiting for you. I asked him if he'd like some coffee-”

“How about cognac?” Bren said.

Vandozen nodded. “A small one. Mrs. Pierson was kind enough to let me wait.”

“I didn't know you were in town.” Bren glanced at Janet.

Vandozen watched her go out to the kitchen as he said, “I built a place near Lordsburg, to be close to our New Mexico operations, some good ones just getting started.” His gaze returned to Bren who was seated now in an easy chair, his hat off, coat open. “I can be here overnight on the Southern Pacific, but I hadn't planned on coming as often as I have.”

“No, this kind of business,” Bren said, “you don't plan its twists and turns, do you?”

“We're going to end it,” Vandozen said. “I want you to go out, talk to this Moon. Tell him we'll make a deal with him.”

“What kind of deal?” Bren said, taken by surprise. Jesus Christ, he didn't want any deal. Not now. He stared at Vandozen sitting on that velvet settee like it was his throne.

“You're going to arrange a meeting between this Moon and myself.” Vandozen paused, his gaze moving as Janet came in with a decanter and two brandy snifters, and watched her as she served them, saying, “Very nice. Thank you.”

Bren remained silent, edgy now. Damn. Seeing his plan coming apart. He said, “It's dark in here. Why don't you turn up the lamps?”

“It's fine,” Vandozen said. “Though you can close that front window if you don't mind.”

There were occasional sounds from outside, men's voices in the street: first-shift miners returning to their quarters, some of them a little drunk.

Jesus Christ, whose house was it? Bren said, “What do you want to talk for? Your man's going out again; he'll get it done.”

“He's not getting it done,” Vandozen said, with emphasis but more quietly than Bren had spoken. “This business should have been handled quickly with a show of force. Offer one choice, leave, that's all. What does he do, stumbles around, can't even find them. When he does, he ties up three Mexicans and shoots them with a newspaperman as a witness. Which is going to take some countering, not to mention money.”

“It's gonna be over soon,” Bren said.

“I know it is. You bring this Moon to me and we'll make a deal.”

“His name's Dana…Dana Moon,” Bren said.

“That's fine. Go get him. Tell him we'll meet at his office or mine, I don't care. Criminal charges against him will be dropped. We'll pay for-no, we'll work out some plan of assistance for anyone whose home or crops were damaged. Tell him any future survey work will be done in isolated areas.”

Bren said, “Ah, now we're getting to it. You haven't found the copper you thought you would, huh?”

“I can say test samples have been misleading, promising more than the locations would ever yield,” Vandozen said. “But that's beside the point. I made an error in judgment, this business going on; allowed it to take on far more prominence-considerably more of my time than it's worth. So you and I are going to bring it to a halt.”

“I don't believe it's part of my job,” Bren said, “since I'm not a messenger boy.”

Vandozen looked at him for what seemed a long time, though perhaps only ten seconds. “What is your job?” he asked.

“I don't know. Tell me.”

“Isn't this Moon a friend of yours?”

“Dana Moon.”

“You two, I understand, used to be close friends?”

“What's that got to do with it?”

“Don't you want to help him?”

“Dana can handle it himself.”

“For God's sake-” Janet Pierson said.

The two men looked at her seated in the straight chair, away from them.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I didn't mean to interrupt.”

“Mrs. Pierson understands,” Vandozen said. “Or, I should say, she doesn't understand why you don't want to help your friend.” Still with the quiet tone.

“I didn't say I wouldn't help him.”

“Or why you don't want to help the company. You're a stockholder…making, what?, ten thousand dollars a year. Why would you knowingly act in violation of your contract?”

“Knowing what?”

“Well, doing anything that's not in the company's best interest. That's standard in any employee contract.”

“The fine print, huh?”

“You don't recall reading that?”

Bren didn't answer. He sat with his cognac, looking at Vandozen, a question in his mind, but afraid Vandozen's answer would destroy his plan completely. Still he had to ask it.

“What about Sundeen? You call him off?”

“Not yet.”

Bren let his breath out slowly. “When you gonna see him?”

“He's to see me first thing in the morning.”