The overlook gave them a good view of the hills to the south. Valentine and Harper listened to the steady drum of hooves in the distance.
"Aw, shit," Harper said. "I always figured a Reaper would get me, not some grubby thugs."
Valentine looked at the house. There were good walls there, and only two doors to cover. The horses would fit in-side. "Okay, so their horses are fresher than ours. We've still got three guns and a good spot to shoot from."
He could now see distant riders galloping along the trail. He stopped counting after estimating fifty. "Let's get inside our new home and get ready to greet our guests."
Behind the house a pump stood on a concrete patio. "Oh, pretty please with sugar on it," Harper said, working the handle. It moved a little too easily; nothing came from the rusty metal spout but noise.
The main room of the house was filled with collapsed roof, but they were able to bring the horses through the back door into a room slightly lower than the larger one. The paneless windows were set so a man at the front could cover the main door, more or less, but the western exposure of rooms off the main one would have to go unguarded. Valentine posted himself at the front window, Harper at the side, and Gonzalez at the rear door. They manhandled an empty refrigerator into the doorway to the main room.
"We ought to be able to hold out for about two minutes now," Harper said.
"There's always the chance we'll make the price too steep for them," Valentine said, filling a pocket with cartridges.
"I was sick of riding anyway," Gonzalez said.
"That's the idea," Valentine responded. "If we can get them to wait until dark, we just might be able to slip out. Head for steep hills and thick woods. Maybe all they want is the horses. I know we can outrun them on foot, even carrying the mail. Whoever they are, they're not Wolves."
Their pursuers approached their refuge with caution. A thin man with a ragged straw hat bearing a single black feather in the brim trotted up toward the house, carbine at his hip. He turned his face suspiciously, first looking at the ruined dwelling with one eye, then the other. Valentine sighted on his dirty undershirt.
"That's far enough. What's on your mind?" Valentine shouted.
The thin man's long face split into a grin. "You boys want parley?"
"We're willing to let lead fly if you want it that way. Might be better for both if we talked first."
Straw Hat turned his horse and disappeared downslope. Valentine counted the minutes; every moment toward dusk helped their cause.
He heard horses moving through the woods below the hill. The pursuers were fanning out to surround the house. It sounded like a lot of riders.
Three heavy figures on tall quarterhorses approached the house. Even beneath beard and dirt, Valentine thought he saw a family resemblance. Their scruffy beards were black as coal, save for the center rider, who had two narrow streaks of gray running down his beard. Their hats also bore black feathers tucked in the left side of the hatband like that of the point man.
"Hello, the house," center rider called. "You wanted a parley, here it is."
"May I know to whom I'm speaking?" Valentine hollered back.
The man glanced at his younger associates. "Sure, stranger. My name's Mr. Mind Your Own Damn Business. This is my son Or I'll Tear Off Your Head and my nephew And I'll Shit Down Your Throat," he yelled. "That satisfy the rules of ettycute?"
A few guffaws broke out from below. "Charming," Harper said. "Why don't you plant him, Lieutenant?"
Valentine kept his concentration on the rider. "Thank you, Mr. Mind. Looks like you got us four in a box. Is there a way for us to get out of it without a bunch of you winding up dead?"
"Maybe there's four of you and maybe there's three. One of your horses is riding light, so maybe you got a woman or a kid in there to think about," the negotiator called back.
"All we're thinking about is how many of you we can take with us. The consensus is twenty. If you're smart enough to know what a claymore mine is, you'll agree that it's at least that."
"Son, we can smoke you out of there easy. You'll be better off to take my terms: leave us your rifles, and give us the horses and tack. You can keep all your food, all your water, and your handguns, if you got 'em. And your lives. Even your self-respect, knowing that you met the Black Feather Troop and lived to tell about it."
"You want the guns, you just try and get 'em," Valentine shouted back, trying to keep the calm assurance of Captain LeHavre in his voice. "You'll get plenty of the business end. How about this: We'll give you the horses and the tack, and walk out of here after you pull out."
"No bargaining! I'm giving you five minutes to talk it over. You're up a dry hill in a building you can't even cover all the sides of. Bring out your rifles, and we let you walk out and keep heading north," he demanded with the assurance of a man holding four aces.
Valentine knew he was beat on card strength, but he believed they wouldn't live to see the sunrise if they walked out of the house without their rifles. The men turned to him, having reached the same conclusions and wanting to go down shooting.
"Gonzo, Harper, get out your blades. There's something we have to do."
"Cut the horses' throats?" Harper asked.