They rode out of Contention toward the cavalry station which was two miles north, up on the San Pedro. It was a one-troop post and Flynn wondered why it had been chosen for the meeting place. He had been working out of Fort Thomas since his return, and Bowers was from Whipple Barracks. But that was like Deneen. He'd pick it so you would wonder. Deneen, the departmental adjutant, whom he'd known for a long time. Too long. Since Chancellorsville. And there was a day at Chancellorsville that he would never forget. Madora had said once that you ought to take a good look at Deneen because he was one of the few honest-to-God full-blooded sons of bitches left.

They rode relaxed, walking the mares, Flynn on a buckskin and Madora on a chestnut. It was close to four o'clock and already the sun was low off to the left, a long crimson streak above the colorless sierra of the Catalinas.

Madora said, "Remember Anastacio Esteban?"

Flynn looked up, surprised. "Very well."

"He came through here yesterday with about the whole tribe. Four or five wagons of big and little Estebans hanging on every place you looked."

"Here? They live down in Sonora. Soyopa."

"I know it," Madora said. "They were up the line for some shindig. You know Anastacio made a lot of friends when he was packin' mules for the army. It don't take much to get him back for a celebration."

Flynn said, "I came through Soyopa. I was digging just southeast of there and stopped off on my way back. Anastacio had me spend the night at his dobe."

"He mentioned he saw you."

"His brother Hilario is the alcalde now. Least he was six months ago when I passed through."

Madora nodded. "The quiet one."

"Unlike his brother," Flynn said. "He wasn't along, was he?"