The sound of someone rushing down the stairs caused him to turn toward the door. It was Merida, and he was surprised to see she had not changed from the torn, dirty leggings she had ridden in. Then he saw the expression on her face.
"Where's Quartel?" she cried.
"He went down to the bunkhouse I guess," Crawford told her, frowning. "What is it?"
"He was right."
"Who was right?"
"Quartel," she said, coming across the room in still, tense steps, her eyes fixed to his face. "Nexpa saw him."
"Quartel?"
"No," she said. "Crawford, don't you understand? Nexpa saw him from an upstairs bedroom. He's out in the brush and he's coming back."
It struck him, then, whom she meant, and his fingers tightened involuntarily around the glass. "The lawman?" She stared at him without answering, her mouth working faintly. He realized his fingers ached, and he eased his grip on the glass. "That's crazy, Merida. No badge-packer would come in here like that. Even Sheriff Kenmare was afraid to follow me this far. Nexpa must be mistaken." She shook her head, the planes of her face taut and strained-looking, her eyes glued in that wide, frightened way to his. He made a small, frustrated motion with the glass, his voice growing hoarse. "She must be, Merida. No lawman. Not even a Texas Ranger." She shook her head again, emitting a small, sobbing sound. He bent toward her tensely, his chest moving perceptibly with the breath passing through it. He was remembering what Delcazar had said. Bible Two? "It is a Ranger?" Crawford almost whispered.
She caught his arm, the words torn from her. "You've got to get out, Crawford. Before he reaches here."