"No, sir," he said. "Not behind me. Beside me." He looked up at the ridge himself, at the whole silent length of it, and then back at the lieutenant, and he spoke clearly, so that the porch could hear it and the nearest troopers could hear it and the man on the horse with the plain hatband could hear it. "And they're not hostiles this morning, Lieutenant. They're witnesses. The same as the man on my porch bench. The same as what's lying on my table there, if you've a mind to look at it before you look at anything else."
Sutter's smile stayed where it was. But it had stopped reaching his eyes.
Chapter 21 — The Accusation
The sun was not yet clear of the ridge when the two lines settled into their silence, and Caleb stood in the open gate with his hands empty and visible, the way a man stands when he has decided that the day will be decided by talking or not at all.
Lieutenant Gray rode forward at a walk, his hat straight, his gloves pale with dust, a young man's face held stiff with the effort of being older than he was. Beside him, half a horse-length back and grinning like a man at a county fair, rode Abel Sutter.
"Mr. Rourke," Gray said. He did not dismount. "I am Lieutenant Daniel Gray, Fort Alvord, commanding this detachment. I am ordered to investigate the Box Canyon affair and to take into custody any persons implicated in it."
"You've ridden a long way on an empty stomach, Lieutenant," Caleb said. "There's coffee on my porch and water for your horses in the trough. Neither one's poisoned, whatever you've been told."
A flicker crossed Gray's face — not quite humor, not quite offense. "I will come to the point. Mr. Sutter here, who guided the paymaster's escort on its route and has served this command as scout, reports that you are harboring the men who ambushed that escort in Box Canyon. That the Kahlin who did the killing are camped on your land at this moment, under your protection, and that one of their number — a scout called Asto — is inside your house."
"That last part's true," Caleb said. "He's inside because he can't walk far. The rest of it's a story, and Mr. Sutter knows what kind."
Sutter leaned forward in his saddle, and the smile widened, easy and reasonable. "Lieutenant, I hate to see a white man stand in his own gate and lie to the United States Army. I hate it considerable. This man fed those killers. He doctored the one that led 'em. There's another of my—" He caught himself, smooth as silk. "There's a white man in that house too, a prisoner they took, one of the escort's teamsters, name of Delgado. Ask why the Kahlin are holding a white prisoner, Lieutenant. Ask what he's a prisoner of."
"They're not holding him," Caleb said evenly. "He's holding himself, mostly, out of fear of you. He's free to walk out that door any time he likes, and he'll tell you so himself, if you'll let him talk without this man standing over him."
"Mr. Rourke." Gray's voice hardened. "You are describing a state of affairs that does not match any report I have received. What I see from this gate is an armed encampment of hostiles on a white man's ranch, in defiance of—"
"They're not defying anybody," Caleb said. "They're standing on a ridge watching soldiers, same as your soldiers are standing in my yard watching them. Nobody's raised a weapon on either side, and I'd take it as a personal favor if it stayed that way until you've heard what's in my house."
"And what is in your house, Mr. Rourke?"
"Proof," Caleb said. "And two men who can talk. One of them's Kahlin and shot half to pieces. One of them's white and scared half to death. Both of them were in Box Canyon the day your paymaster died, which is more than can be said for the man riding beside you."
Gray's eyes moved to Sutter. Sutter laughed, a short, practiced sound. "There it is, Lieutenant. I told you in San Miguel how it would go. He's turned, this one. Living out here alone with his girl, gone soft in the head about Indians. He'll show you some trinket and tell you a tale, and meanwhile three hundred rifles on that ridge—"
"I count a ridge full of riders, Mr. Sutter, same as you," Gray said. "I was not asking you to count them for me." He studied Caleb for a long moment. The windmill creaked. Somewhere behind Caleb, in the house, a floorboard sounded — Sadie, moving to the window with the Winchester, not aiming it, just holding it the way she'd hold a broom.
"Here is what I require," Gray said at last. "The Kahlin scout and the white prisoner will be surrendered to me now. They will be taken to Fort Alvord. If what they say bears out, they will be released. If it does not—" He stopped.
"If it does not, they'll hang," Sutter said, pleasantly, into the pause. "That's the law for murdering United States soldiers, and everybody standing here knows it. Hand 'em over, Rourke. It's that or I write 'harboring hostiles' in the report, and this ranch goes the way of the Kahlin."
Caleb looked at the young lieutenant a while. "You ever read your own orders all the way to the bottom, Lieutenant? They say investigate. Investigating means looking at what's put in front of you before you hang anybody. I've got the paymaster's own ledger and his brass seal sitting on my kitchen table — things the Kahlin are supposed to have stolen and spent. I've got the scout who saw the ambush happen, and the white man who helped bury what you're looking for. Ten minutes at my table, with your own eyes on the paper. Then, if you still want your prisoners, you can argue it with me and with Chief Makya both, and I'll abide by what the evidence says. That's more fair than this man ever offered anybody in Box Canyon."