it for himself. So--such a _bandido_
as this Kitchell, he could take horses, good, trained horses--maybe from
the army--and he would run them south. He would sell them for money, _si_,
probably much money. But also he could trade for guns--two, three, five
guns at a time. Not as good as those his own men carry--old ones maybe, but
good enough for Apaches. He would then bring these north, give them as
payment for being left alone."

"Why wouldn't the Apaches just kill him and his men and grab what they
have?" Drew pointed out what seemed to him the obvious flaw in the system.

"Apaches, they are not stupid. Guns they could take. But once such a gun
is broken, where can they get another? They cannot walk into Tubacca or
Tucson to buy what they need. Kitchell's men do, perhaps--it is thought
that they do so. Also when he trades at the border it is with men who
would meet the Apaches with fire and bullets. Apache war parties are never
large. Perhaps in all this part of the country there are not more than
half a hundred warriors--and those scattered in small bands. I do not say
that this is truth, _Senor_ Kirby. I only say that it would explain many
things--such as why Kitchell has not been caught."

"Makes sense," Anse commented. "Always did hear as how Apaches were
meaner'n snakes but they wasn't stupid. Keep a tame gunrunner to work for
'em--that sounds like th' tricky sorta play they cotton to. If it is so,
th' man who gits Kitchell may jus' rid this country of some of them
two-legged wolves into th' bargain."

"According to what I've heard," Drew said, "this Kitchell claims to lead a
regular Confederate force that hasn't surrendered. If he wants to make
that valid, he wouldn't dare any such deal!"

"I'll bet you without waitin' to see a hole card," Anse replied, "that if
that coyote was ever ridin' on our side--which I don't stretch ear to--he
cut loose them traces long ago. There were them buzzards we had us a
coupla run-ins with back in Tennessee, 'member? Scum ... some of 'em
wearin' blue coats, some gray, but they was all jus' murderin' outlaws.
What did they whine when they was caught? Did th' Yankees run 'em in, then
they was unlucky Reb scouts. An' when our boys licked up a nest of th'
varmints--why, we'd taken us a mess o' respectable Yank 'Irregulars,'
'cordin' to their story. 'Course none of their protestin' kept 'em from
stretched necks." His hand went to his own. "I oughta know, seem' as how I
was picke