“It has been a big night, Padre,” said Musical.
“A night of terror,” mumbled the priest. “A terrible thing.”
“Could ’a’ been worse,” smiled Sleepy. “We might ’a’ been down there on the floor—with them.”
The priest shuddered as Hashknife took the lamp and looked over the finish of the fight. There was little doubt of the outcome. Faro Lanning was still alive, as was Torres. The Pinnacle gambler squinted up at them, a painful grin on his thin lips.
“The hand is played out,” he said wearily. “You win. I’ve always stayed until the last pot was played.”
“I’m sorry, Faro,” said Big Medicine. “I didn’t know you were in on the deal until tonight.”
“Not their deal,” said Faro. “Torres, Reed, Garcia, and myself were together. Blair was with us, too. He was the one who stole Meline’s letter to Baldy Kern, tellin’ Baldy about sendin’ you a package. It was a fake package. We found it out. It said that Meline’s son was comin’ along, and Baldy was to send the package back by him. It would save any chance of a slip.
“Reed shot young Meline. It was a cold-blooded thing to do, but Reed hated Meline. The holdup netted us nothing. It was the four of us that took the cargo away from Baldy’s outfit, and we almost got caught by the revenue officers.
“It was the four of us that planned to send you out after rustlers, while we tried to find the cargo. Olsen is a crook, but he didn’t belong to either side. For five dollars he would do almost anything, and keep still. He knew we were goin’ to hold up the stage that night. Torres wanted the girl, so we helped him take them away.”
Torres had nothing to say. He knew that he was going fast, so they left him to the priest and went to the women. Wanna was crying, but Lucy, still stoical, held out her hand to Big Medicine, and they looked at each other. She did not show the least emotion, except that a faint smile passed her lips.