“Get back by the table!” snapped Baldy. “I ain’t never killed no priests, but there’s always a first time.”
Father Francisco moved back to the table, where he stood full in the rays of the lamp, looking toward the doorway. The place was as silent as the tomb, except for the breathing of the men.
It seemed ages before there was any sound from outside. Came the soft crunch of gravel and the door was flung violently open. Still there was no one in sight. The door creaked back a trifle. Then Big Medicine Hawkworth’s huge body filled the doorway, a heavy revolver in his right hand. He squinted at the light and at the black-gowned priest, blinking slightly.
“Only a priest,” he said softly. “That’s queer.”
He stepped inside, followed by Ike Marsh, Musical Matthews, and Cleve Davis.
“A priest, eh?” said Ike nervously.
“Don’t move.” Baldy’s voice was triumphant. “There’s a dozen guns on yuh right now. Put up yore hands and drop them guns.”
The capture was a complete success. They realized that it was useless to resist. The men were scattered along the wall, and now the men from the Tumbling H could distinguish them and their guns.
Kohler came and collected the guns from the floor, handing them to Guadalupe for safe keeping, while the rest of the men got up and came forward. Big Medicine leaned back against the wall and looked at the well-known faces.
“Thought you’d catch us asleep, eh?” sneered Baldy. “We’ve been expectin’ yuh.”