an Apache will give plenty silver for a magazine rifle . and somebody is seeing that they get &apos;em . we &apos;ve been alerted . Brock said , looks like I got here at the right time . the Major &apos;s smile was grim . may need every man we can get . count me in . I &apos;ll keep an eye on Parkhurst - Slocum , if that &apos;s what he wants to be called - while I look into other things . like what ? well &amp;hellip; Carlyle , for one . just do n&apos;t like him . look , Pete . did n&apos;t it strike you funny , the way he clammed up on the shooting ? shaking his head , Ahrens said , no , it did n&apos;t . I told you he was a cold fish . asked a few questions on the way back yesterday , but nobody opened up . did n&apos;t expect them to . reckon we &apos;ll just have to let the matter solve itself . I &apos;m not waiting . now look , feller . it &apos;s none of your business . I &apos;m making it my business . what in blazes got you so - his eyes sparked with understanding . ahhhh ! I see , I see ! he slowly nodded his head , smiling . I told you she was a beauty . I told you . you &apos;re crazy . Brock felt a sudden warmth prickle his face . go climb your horse . do n&apos;t know who you &apos;re talking about . I &apos;ll bet you do n&apos;t . very well , sure-shot . you &apos;re a big boy now . should be able to look after yourself without - Brock waved the grinning Ahrens out of the shack . go play with your Indians , will you ! that &apos;s just what I &apos;m going to do . came up this way to look for Indian signs . got patrols cutting the country . our friend Carlyle should be grateful since his wagons will soon be back with supplies . might be he &apos;ll need a little cavalry protection . you &apos;re taking those dispatches seriously . darn right I am . anything about Indians I take seriously . and they &apos;d like to get their bloody hands on the beef and whisky and beer and stuff he hauls back . he ships out unbroken ore and brings back supplies ? takes about a month . due back in a few days . goes south someplace . anyway , much as I hate to do him a turn , it &apos;s my duty to keep an eye out for him . the troopers had been joshing with a starry-eyed Tom&amp;aacute;s . they snapped to rigid silence as the Major approached and mounted his roan gelding . the boy ran to the gate , scraped it open , and waved the trotting detail on its way . Mister Brock , Tom&amp;aacute;s asked , watching the riders through the haze of kicked up dust , how long before I can be a soldier ? Brock rumpled the boy &apos;s hair . do n&apos;t be in a hurry . enjoy what you have around here while you can . oh , I do , Mister Brock . I do a lot of things here that I like . and I can ride the mules very well , too . pondering , he tipped the curly head to one side . that is , Juanito I ride well . the other one , Diablo , does not like for me to get on the back . then stay off . oh yes . but not Juanito . he is a good mule . sometimes I ride him almost as far as where the Sheriff lived . when I am a soldier , I will ride and ride and - hold on , now . a soldier has to walk too . walk far . oh , I can walk far , Mister Brock . I can walk all the way to the mine . you keep away from the mine . no place for boys to play . the suggestion of a pout puckered the boy &apos;s face . you talk like my mother talks . you listen to your mother . I have to . Brock said , a soldier must learn to take orders , do as he is told . your mother is your commander - like the Major . see ? when she tells you not to go to the mine , that is an order . the brown eyes rolled slowly upward , searching Brock &apos;s serious gaze . softly , the boy said , it is ? it is . how about it ? a good soldier , or a bad boy ? a tough decision to make . half the fun of being a boy was in doing the things you were forbidden to do . on the other hand , to be a soldier &amp;hellip; ! the picture of snorting horses and blue uniforms and sheathed sabres was too fresh in his mind . a soldier , Mister Brock . promise ? on the honour of a soldier ? the large eyes lit up . I can do that ? I can promise - like a soldier ? you can . I do it , Mister Brock . I promise , like a soldier . no more going to the mine , then . no sir , Mister Brock . soldier &apos;s promise . chapter eight . it was late in the afternoon before Magdalena returned the cleaned and mended clothes . saddling Rusty as soon as he was dressed , Brock cut eastward in search of the Stevens &apos; place . as long as he felt compelled to look into the shooting of the Sheriff , he might as well visit the victim &apos;s late home . maybe Stevens &apos; niece could furnish a clue , he told himself , as the proud chestnut stretched limber legs across the rocky soil . his interest was purely in the shooting ! nothing else ! topping a slight rise , he looked down on a squat white-painted frame cottage - a square box dumped in the middle of the drab desert with a white slat fence girdling it in uneven lines . two low stringy shrubs afforded the only touch of green within sight . a weathered unpainted stable stood about fifty feet behind the cottage , and a man came out of it , carrying a shovel and bucket , and walked unhurriedly around the side . a dull orange shirt hung loosely over dust brown pants ; a red band circling long black strands of hair clearly identified him as an Indian . touching Rusty , Brock guided the horse down the slope to the white picket gate , dismounting as the cottage door opened . she stood framed in the doorway , a formal full-length portrait with hands clasped before her , head high . the soft violet eyes - well , they were neither soft nor violet at the moment . just what do you want here , Mister Taylor ? whatever it was , he was not being invited to find it . why &amp;hellip; . he hesitated , hat in hand . just dropped by to say hello , Miss Stevens . we &apos;re neighbours , y&apos; know . Mister Carlyle told me . he had been certain the eyes were more violet than grey . could it have been the black dress of mourning that brought out such warm lights last evening ? surely , the gown she now wore - corn-flower blue , waist-tight with full skirt - should complement tender violet tints instead of accentuating the cold impersonal grey stare that challenged him . just thought I &apos;d say hello , he repeated awkwardly . see if there &apos;s anything I can do to - I assure you , sir , there is nothing worth spying on ! spying ? Mister Carlyle told me ! told you what , ma&apos;am ? he forced a smile on his lips , even though it had left his voice . of your - profession ! I was compelled to tolerate Yankee subjugation back home , sir . I hoped to be free of it out here . at least I could evade them when I saw blue uniforms . sorry you feel that way , ma&apos;am . but I do n&apos;t see what that has to do with calling me a spy . please do n&apos;t try to brazen it out , Mister Taylor - if that is your name ! your companions have the questionable decency to show their colours , but you &amp;hellip; . yes &amp;hellip; ? but me ? she leaned forward , small fists clenched white at her sides . sparking each word with bitter contempt , she accused him with shaking vehemence . you pose as something you never were ! trying to win your way into Mister Carlyle &apos;s confidence , just to spy on him for your Yankee masters ! now just a minute , young lady ! his face reddened , darkening the welts and bruises , and emphasizing the purple bulge under the right eye . I do n&apos;t like being called a spy ! call it what you will ! there &apos;s a nastier term for it ! she stepped back , slamming the door shut , leaving him fuming as he gripped the white picket fence . Mister Carlyle told me ! oh , he did , did he ! jamming the hat on his head , Brock leaped to Rusty &apos;s back , swung him towards the mine . he &apos;d look there first and find out just what in the blazing hell Mister Carlyle had told her ! a thin freckled-faced youth sauntered from around the far side of the loading platform as Brock drew Rusty to a rearing halt at the mine . the boy &apos;s black hat sat far back on his head ; his thumbs were hooked in a wide cartridge belt . the hog leg butt of a long pistol stuck out from a holster that was tied to his skinny thigh . Mister Carlyle around ? Brock asked . what you want &apos;im fer ? the boy tried to make the age-changing voice sound hard , and it might have sounded ludicrous had it not been for the reckless chill shimmering in cat-yellow eyes . want to see him , Brock said . know where he is ? maybe . who are you ? neighbour . is Carlyle here ? the boy spat between his teeth - just like O&apos;Shay - and pressed his thumbs down on the pistol belt - just like Clanton . he tried to squint his eyes like Beeman when he said , do n&apos;t see &apos;im , do yuh ? Brock looked the boy over from shabby boots to over-sized hat . what are you trying to do , sonny ? play like you &apos;re a man ? a freckled hand flashed to the hog leg butt . the gawky frame tensed . Brock said , better be careful who you play with , sonny . he swung Rusty around and toed him into a run without seeing the black-haired man waiting motionlessly behind the opposite side of the platform . Gimpy Beckett limped up to the youth as Brock disappeared down the grade . see him before ? he growled . the boy shook his head . I shoulda give it to him ! Gimpy glared at the boy . listen , kid . just &apos;cause you shot one man , do n&apos;t feel like you can shoot &apos;em all ! you do n&apos;t need to tell me . I am tellin&apos; you ! get snotty with me , youngster , and I &apos;ll take back that hog leg and warm your skinny butts with it . Carlyle told me to learn you , and by God I will ! he turned away and limped to the shade of the mine office . Arkie was standing next to the saloon &apos;s hitching rail , minding the red-wheeled chaise , when Brock rode up . the black stallion reared in the shafts as Rusty drew close , and Arkie had to hang on with both hands . heck all ! Arkie scolded Brock over his shoulder , you know better &apos;n to bring a horse that close to Jet ! Mister Carlyle sure give it to yuh , he finds out ! from the saddle , Brock said , you just tell me where Carlyle is and I &apos;ll see that he finds out . Arkie gaped up at him . you talkin&apos; &apos;bout Mister Carlyle ? where is he ? Brock nodded towards the saloon . in there ? stunned , Arkie gasped , you mean you gon na tell Mister Carlyle ? dismounting , Brock slip-knotted the reins around the end post of the hitch rail . keep that black devil away from Rusty or you &apos;ll have a sick horse on your hands , he warned , and leaped to the wooden sidewalk . about to push open the swinging doors , he stopped as a woman touched his arm . a gaunt little creature , her pinched face seemed more eyes than anything else . a faded blue sun-bonnet hid most of the face and all of her hair , and she clutched a thin grey shawl as though the sun &apos;s rays were streaks of penetrating sleet . her long full skirt , a worn drab plaid , swept the boardwalk in uneven folds . I must see you , Mister Taylor , she whispered , leaning close . just for a minute . please . Brock glanced impatiently inside the saloon . yes , ma&apos;am ? over here . she led him to the second building past the saloon . look , ma&apos;am . he tried to sound patient . I have business to attend to . I &apos;ll be glad to listen if - you do n&apos;t remember me Mister Taylor ? the interruption caught him by surprise . remember this frail little old woman ? he &apos;d never seen her before in his life . 