Free Buchanan's Seige by Jonas Ward Page A

the enemy."
    "Then they'll kill us." She considered. "If they do, there'll be a stench in the land, an uprising of the righ teous!"
    "Now, lady, don't be figurin' on martyrdom. Once in your grave, you don't count. It's a big country with plenty of room for the livin', and those who survive keep right on mindin' their own affairs. Let the dead stay buried, they figure."
    "You don't believe in anything much, do you, Buchan an?" Her eyes were bright and a bit sad.
    "Time and circumstance," he said. "A man does what he can. Belief? I got my beliefs."
    She stood a moment staring at him. Then she went quickly from the room. He shrugged. He was not one to speak to strangers about what he believed.
    He got up and went out of the house. He found the big buckskin in the corral and saddled him, spoke to him, mounted and rode out.
    He rode over the terrain from which the attack must come. There were some high trees clustered at the front of the house which he would wish to have leveled if possible. There was a knoll to the west behind which the forces of the enemy could deploy in safety. Neither prospect pleased him.
    He rode around for some time, squinting at his friends, the stars under which he had so often slept. He thought about the people gathered at the Kovacs' place and how he had come among them.
    He removed his hat and said a few words to his own private deity, which was not an old man with a long white beard sitting up above the clouds, but something quite clos er to Buchanan and his natural surroundings.
    Colonel Bradbury's hacienda was old-Spanish design, an elaborate place designed by Consuela, his Spanish wife of many years. She was the daughter of a consul, they had met in Austin. She was a woman of strength with deep, dark eyes; no longer young, growing heavy of body but still handsome.
    Servants brought whiskey and carafes of water to the leaders of the Cattleman's Association, who were out on the patio. Torches threw light upon the scene.
    Dealer Fox said, "We got those rustlers that Durkin bung, and buried them where nobody'll find them. Now we got to get Durkin."
    "We're addin' up a big total," Bradbury said. He was u ncomfortable, unsure.
    "Pollard and them can handle it."
    Morgan Crane said, "But I'm the boss in the field. I'm g iv in' the orders. I know how."
    "Certainly, Morgan," said Fox. "Pollard and Dorn and Tanner and Geer will be your lieutenants."
    Crane drank deeply. "Just make damn sure of it."
    Bradbury sat back. Morgan was a fool. Fox was getting cl ose to the deep edge, he thought. "There's women in that Kovacs' house. Four of 'em."
    ""What of it?" demanded Crane. "Did we send 'em th ere? Is it our business they gang up with the men and the s? You think they won't shoot us quick enough?"
    Bradbury said, "By God, we don't make war on women. First thing to do is palaver. Give the women time to get out.”
    "And have them tellin' lies all over? It's too late for Brad. Too late."
    "And the hell with 'em," roared Crane.
    "And what about when it's done?" asked Bradbury. "Then what story do we tell?"
    "Our own story," said Fox.
    "They're rustlers and killers. Anything we say they are. Right, Dealer?"
    "That's the way it's got to be," said Fox.
    "And all those men we brought in? You think they won't talk when it's over?"
    "Let 'em talk. Nobody'll believe them against us. You got to realize, Brad, we are the law."
    "Sure," said Crane. He tossed off another drink. "By God, that's us. The law: We own this country, we come in here and took it and made it ours."
    "There can't be two sides," Fox insisted. "It's either them or us."
    "Yeah, Brad, you gotta remember that."
    Bradbury said, "I'm goin' to give those women a chance to get outa there."
    Crane began to holler, but Fox put up a hand. "Tomor row we'll talk about it. Dawn, ain't it? Pollard said dawn was best, like when Injuns attack. People ain't awake and ready. There's no sun to cheer 'em. Dawn."
    Crane said, "And the hell with the women."
    "Come on, Morgan,