The Mexican touched his hat, loosening it and setting it again. Even with the revolver on his leg and the cartridge belt across his chest he seemed friendly standing there.

He said, “Good afternoon. How are you today?”

Moon and Bren Early watched him, Bren murmuring, “Jesus Christ,” under his breath.

“It's good to reach water on a hot day,” the Mexican said. “Have you been here very long?”

Moon and Bren Early seemed patient, waiting for him to get to it.

“We looking for friends of ours,” the Mexican said. “We wonder if you see anybody ride by here the past hour.”

Bren Early said, “Haven't seen a soul.”

The Mexican took time to look past them and study the adobes, seeing the white smoke rising from the first chimney and vanishing in the glare.

“Where your horses?”

“Out of the sun,” Bren Early said.

“You good to them,” the Mexican said. “What else you got in there?”

“Troop of cavalry,” Bren Early said and called out, “Sergeant!”

Bo Catlett, with a Spencer, appeared in the door-way of the first adobe, calling back, “Suh!”

The Mexican began to shake his head very slowly. “You got the Uninah States Army in there? Man, I like to see that.” His gaze returned to Bren Early and Moon. “Soldiers…but you don't have no uniforms on.” He paused. “You don't want nobody to know you here, huh? Listen, we won't tell nobody.”

“You don't know what you've seen what you haven't seen,” Bren Early said. “Leave it at that.”

The Mexican said, “You don't want to invite me in there?”

Moon drew his Colt from the shoulder rig and put it on the Mexican. “You got a count of three to move out of here,” he said. “One…two…three-”