I looked hard, but all I saw was the narrow deep shadow between the two adobes. And I was about to tell Terry he was mistaken when this figure appeared out of the shadows. He stood there for a minute close to one of the adobes, then started across the street, walking slowly.
He came to the steps and hesitated; but when Terry stood up and said, "Regalo," softly, the boy came up on the porch.
Deelie turned the lamp up as we went inside and I heard Terry asking the boy if he was hungry. The boy shook his head. Then we all just stood there not knowing what to say, trying not to stare at the boy. He was wearing the torn red shirt and looking at Terry like he had something to tell him but didn't know the right words.
Then he reached into his shirt, suddenly starting to talk in Spanish. He pulled something out wrapped in buckskin, still talking, and handed it to Terry. Then he stopped and just watched as Terry, looking embarrassed, unwrapped the little square of buckskin.
Terry looked at the boy and then at me, his eyes about to pop out of his head, and I saw what he was holding...a raw gold nugget.
It must have been the size of two shot glasses; way, way bigger than any I'd ever had the pleasure of seeing. Terry put it on the counter, stepped back, and looked at it like he was beholding the palace of the king of China.
He just stared, and the boy started talking again in that rapid-fire Spanish like he was trying to say everything at once. Terry looked at the boy and he stared some more until the boy stopped talking.
"What'd he say?" I asked him.
Terry took a minute to look over at me. "He says this is mine and that he'll show me a lot more. A place nobody knows about..."
I could believe that. You don't find nuggets that size out in the road. And it made sense the boy might know of a mine. It was common talk that any Apache could be a rich man, the way he knew the country--the whereabouts of mines worked by the Spanish two and three hundred years ago. Sure Indians knew about them, but they weren't going to tell whites and be crowded off their land quicker than it was already happening. In three years with Chiricahuas, Regalo could have learned plenty.
I said, "Terrence, you and that red shirt have made a valuable friendship."
TERRY WAS STILL about three feet off the ground. He said then, "But he claims he wants to live with me!"
"Well, taking him in is the least you can do, considering--"
"But I can't--"
He stopped there. I turned around to see what Terry was looking at and there was Max Repper in the doorway, with his Henry. Max was grinning, which he hadn't done in a month, and he came forward keeping the barrel trained at Terry.
"I knew he'd show," Repper said, "soon as I saw you hanging around. I came for two things. Him"--he swung the barrel to indicate the boy--"and my nugget."
"Yours?" I said.
"The boy stole it from me."
"You never saw it before you peeked in that window."
"That's your say," Repper answered.
Terry said, "What do you want with the boy?"
"I got work for him till the reservation people take him away."
"He doesn't belong on a reservation," Terry said.
"That's not my worry." Repper shrugged. "That's what they're saying at Dos Fuegos will happen to him."
Terry shook his head slowly, saying, "That wouldn't be right."
Repper lifted the Henry a little higher. "Just hand me the nugget."
Terry hesitated. Then he said, "You come and take it."
"I can do that too," Repper said. He was concentrating on Terry and started to move toward him. His eyes went to the nugget momentarily, two seconds at best, and as they did the boy went for him. He was at Repper's throat in one lunge, dragging him down. Terry moved then, pushing the rifle barrel up and against Repper's face. Repper went down, the boy on top of him, and then a knife was in Regalo's hand.
Deelie screamed and Terry lifted the boy off of Repper, saying, "Wait a minute!" Then, in Spanish, he was talking more quietly, calming the boy.
Repper sat up with his hand to his face. He had a welt across his forehead where the rifle barrel hit, but he was more mad than hurt. He said, "You think I'm going to let you get away with this?"
Terry was himself again. He said, "I don't think you got a choice."
"I haven't?" Max said. "I'll make damn sure he gets put the hell on that reservation."
"If you can prove he's Indian," Terry answered.
Max gave us his sly look. "Either way," he said. "If he ain't Indian then he's white, with white kin, and no authority's going to let him get adopted by a saddle tramp who ain't worked in two years."
It was a good thing Max was sitting down when he said that. Max was through, and he probably knew it, but if Terry wanted the boy, then he'd sure make it plain hell for Terry to keep him.
I told Repper, "That's up to the authorities. The thing is, this boy's got no recollection of white kin and the only other person who knew his parents is dead. And he's said himself he wants to live with Terry."
Max grinned. "And I imagine Terry wants the boy, and his nugget, to live with him. But like I said, the authorities won't see it that way."
And then Deelie had something to say. She was looking at Max Repper, but I think talking to Terry, and she said, "No, they wouldn't let the boy live with a saddle tramp who hasn't worked in two years...but I'm sure they would agree that a successful mining man of Mr. McNeil's character would be more than they could hope for...especially since he'll be married within the week."
That was exactly how Deelie did it. I've often wondered if she ever thought Terry married her just so he could raise the boy. I didn't think he did, knowing Terry, and I doubt if Deelie really cared...long as she had him.
The stories contained in this volume originally appeared in the following publications:
"Cavalry Boots," Zane Grey's Western, December 1952
"Under the Friar's Ledge," Dime Western Magazine, January 1953
"Three-Ten to Yuma," Dime Western Magazine, March 1953
"Long Night," Zane Grey's Western, May 1953
"The Captives," Argosy, February 1955
"Jugged," Western Magazine, December 1955
"The Kid," Western Short Stories, December 1956
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