They both looked up as we came into the small yard. Neither of them said anything for a moment. Then Laurel stood up abruptly and stepped off the porch. She walked to Pony, being careful not to look at Kha-to-nay, and took the derringer out of her apron pocket, and held it out so Pony could see it. Pony smiled, threw a leg over the pommel of his saddle, and slid fluidly off his horse.
“Chiquita,” he said.
She jumped into his arms, and he held her, rocking gently side to side. Kha-to-nay sat silent as a stone.
“Pony Flores,” Allie said. “How perfectly lovely. Come sit on the porch, you and your friend.”
Pony said something to Kha-to-nay in Apache. Kha-to-nay shook his head. Pony spoke again. Kha-to-nay did not answer, nor did he look at any of us.
“My brother is a donkey,” Pony said. “But he is my brother.”
10
WE SAT on the porch and passed around a jug of corn whiskey. Allie put a marker in her etiquette book, went to get small glasses for herself and Laurel.
“Ladies don’t drink from jugs,” Allie said.
Virgil poured a little for each lady, and took a pull from the jug before he handed it to Pony Flores. Laurel sat close beside Virgil and did not look at Kha-to-nay.
Kha-to-nay would not touch the jug or even acknowledge that it existed. But he did finally get off his horse and lean on the porch railing, with his Winchester, looking toward town, standing as far away from the rest of us as possible.
“For true Chiricahua, Blue-Eyed Devil not exist,” Pony said. “What Kha-to-nay believe.”
“You’re a half Mex,” Virgil said. “Ain’t he?”
“All Chiricahua,” Pony said. “Same mother. Different father.”
“He hate us all?” I said.
“Like only Chiricahua,” Pony said.
“We take away his land?” I said.
“Take away everything,” Pony said.
“How you feel about that?”
“You come, take away what Chiricahua have,” Pony said.