LONGARM AND THE ARIZONA AMBUSH

By Tabor Evans

Synopsis:

U.S. Deputy Marshall Custis Long is in the Arizona Territory, tracking a
band of train robbers.  As he approaches a line rider's cabin, a rifle
shot rings out and his horse is killed, leaving him afoot in the middle
of the desert.  The only real cover or protection from the brutal sun is
in the cabin--along with the gunman.  204th novel in the "Longarm"
series, 1995.

Jove Books
New York
Copyright (C) 1995 by
Jove Publications, Inc.

All rights reserved.

This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, by mimeograph or any
other means, without permission. For information address: The Berkley
Publishing Group, 200 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10016.

ISBN: 0-515-11766-8

Jove Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, 200 Madison Avenue,
New York, New York 10016.

JOVE and the
"J" design are trademarks belonging to Jove Publications, Inc.

A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author
Printing history
Jove edition / December 1995

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book
is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the
publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment
for this "stripped book."

DON'T MISS THESE
ALL-ACTION WESTERN SERIES
FROM THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
THE GUNSMITH by J. R. Roberts
Clint Adams was a legend among lawmen, outlaws, and ladies. They called
him ... the Gunsmith.
LONGARM by Tabor Evans
The popular long-running series about U.S. Deputy Marshal Long--his life,
his loves, his fight for justice.
SLOCUM by Jake Logan
Today's longest-running action Western. John Slocum rides a deadly trail
of hot blood and cold steel.
Mcmasters by Lee Morgan
The blazing new series from the creators of Longarm. When Mcmasters
shoots, he shoots to kill. To his enemies, he is the most dangerous man they
have ever known.

Chapter 1

He had been able to see the little cabin for some distance as he'd ridden
slowly across the harsh, flat prairie of southeastern Arizona.

Sometimes there would be a low place and he'd only be able to see the top
half of the cabin, but then he'd strike a rise and be able to see the whole
structure. It stuck out like a sore thumb in the vastness of the high plains
which didn't seem fit to nurture even varmints, much less human beings and
their animals. It was the only thing in sight much taller than a man. Off in
the distance, looking deceptively close, were buttes and single mountains that
would rise to heights of five and six thousand feet, but the cabin was the
only thing that bespoke the presence of man in any direction for miles and
miles.

He was coming straight at the cabin, directly from the front. To his
eye, it looked deserted. He had no intention, however, of making straight for
the place without giving it a lengthy and thorough inspection. The man he was
trailing was the worst kind; he was mean and he was smart. Mean wasn't so
bad, but mean and smart were a bad combination.

He continued on over the harsh ground. It was mostly dust and rocks with
patches of buffalo grass and, here and there, bunches of the tough mesquite
weeds. Occasionally there were small brakes of greasewood brambles and beds
of thorny mescal cactus, but there wasn't a tree in sight or a bush higher
than a man's waist. As he approached the cabin, he was uncomfortably aware of
just how empty the country was with not a sign of cover in sight.

A half mile short of the place he pulled up his horse and sat staring at
the cabin. He had a packhorse on a lead rope. Both the horse he was riding
and the packhorse were thirsty and hungry and just about played out. If the
cabin was occupied, there would be water and, perhaps, feed for his animals.
But if it was, there would also be at least one very dangerous man inside.
Maybe more than one. He had been on their trail for five days and the better
part of two hundred miles.

His name was Custis Long, though most people referred to him as Longarm,
and he was a deputy United States marshal. His base was Denver, Colorado, but
his work took him wherever federal law felt the need of a man who didn't mind
going into dangerous situations and setting matters right. At least that was
the view that his boss, Billy Vail, took. Longarm wasn't so sure about not
minding going into dangerous situations. He went, but it was not always with
a high degree of willingness.

Now he sat his horse and studied the cabin. There was not a sign of
life, but that didn't mean anything. If Jack Shaw was in there, he was
perfectly capable of sitting as still as a stone until he had some reason to
react.

Longarm wanted to see the other side of the cabin. If there was a corral
it would be at the back, and he wanted to see if there were any horses
present. He could, he knew, have safely made a big wide circle to come up
behind the cabin, but he wasn't sure his horses could stand the extra work.
It was June and it was hot. Longarm thought it was as hot as the door handle
on a whorehouse. He could see little waves of heat shimmering off the prairie
in every direction.

He figured the cabin was a line shack. In such poor country, where it
took five hundred acres to feed one head of beef, ranchers erected such
dwellings for their line riders.

Cattle tended to drift toward the south, especially in the spring,
autumn, and winter. It was the line rider's job to throw the cattle back up
toward the north, driving them five or ten miles in that direction and then
turning back to catch another bunch. The cabins were usually situated about
fifteen miles apart down on the southern line of the property owner's land.
More than likely there was another cabin to the west of the one he was looking
at, and another to the east. At this time of year, summer, the cattle would
be on the northern ranges, in the foothills of the mountains, where it was
cooler. If the cabin was occupied now, it wouldn't be by a line rider.

Longarm felt as tired as his horses. His pursuit of the men who had
robbed the train had been as relentless and hurried as the terrain and his
horses would allow. He had slept only when it was forced on him by his body,
and his meals had been snatched and incomplete. He had left the site of the
robbery riding one horse and leading three others. Two he had turned loose as
they had faded and failed, leaving them to make it on their own if they could
in the rough, mountainous country he'd been through. Now he was down to just
these two horses. More like one and a quarter, he thought grimly. He looked
up at the sky, judging by the sun that it was about mid-afternoon, maybe
earlier, maybe somewhere between two and three o'clock. He'd put his watch in
his saddlebags for safekeeping. Some of the country he'd been crossing had
been so rough and jumbled he'd expected the fillings to fall out of his teeth.

He sat, trying to figure out what to do. By his best calculations his
locale was about seventy miles north of the Mexican border. The sign he'd
struck as he'd come out of the last of the mountains had indicated he was
close on to his quarry. If that was the case, then there was an excellent
chance that the game he was hunting would be in the cabin.

But just how many of them there were, he could not say. Which was one of
the reasons he wanted to get a look behind the cabin and see the number of
horses there. Of course that might not necessarily tell him anything. There
might be five horses behind the cabin, but that didn't mean there'd be five
men in the cabin. In fact Longarm felt pretty sure there wasn't but one. But
if it was the one he thought it was, then one was more than a handful.

He reckoned it to be Jack Shaw. And he half hoped it would be, while
another part of him hoped that it wouldn't be.

Jack Shaw was a former law officer gone bad. Longarm had known him for
at least fifteen years, back when he, Longarm, was just getting comfortably
settled into his role as a federal marshal and Jack Shaw was a man who
specialized in pinning on a badge and cleaning up border towns. He'd become a
legend, making things warm for outlaws in towns from Brownsville, Texas, clear
on across New Mexico and up the border to Nogales, Arizona Territory, and on
to Calixico, California. As far as Longarm was concerned, the Mexican border
territory was about as bad as it got and to go in there as a town-tamer was
seriously dangerous work. You had to be a hell of a hombre just to stay alive
under such circumstances, much less hang and jail as many bandits as Jack Shaw
had. Longarm had always wondered why a man would choose to work under such
trying conditions. Jack Shaw had always said he simply liked it and it really
wasn't as dangerous as it appeared. But then had come faint rumors about this
prisoner escaping or that outlaw vanishing from a jail, and about Jack Shaw
having more money to spend than seemed right. Finally, after nine years on
the job, Jack Shaw had shown his true colors. He'd robbed a bank in Del Rio,
Texas, in the very town where he was marshal, and had escaped with better than
twenty thousand dollars. After that had come a succession of robberies in
towns where Jack had worked as a sheriff or town marshal. In some cases he
had been identified; in others it had only been speculation that he had been
involved. He was tough, he was daring, and he knew the ins and outs of both
sides of the law. All in all he made a formidable adversary. Longarm could
think of any number of men he'd rather go up against if the objective was to
get out alive.

He could feel his horse shudder under him, and he knew he couldn't stay
put any longer. He wanted to get closer to the cabin and at the same time
work around to the back. He urged his mount forward, feeling the pull of the
packhorse behind. He rode obliquely, nearing the cabin but making one yard
sideways for every yard forward. Finally he had the angle of the side and
front wall facing him, and was just starting to see the posts of the corral
behind the shack. He pressed forward. The distance between him and the cabin
shortened. It came down from two hundred yards to one hundred, and then began
to diminish so that he could see the scarred and weatherbeaten details of the
shack. It had several windows, but they were small and not paned with glass.
One or two had outside shutters, but they hung loose and askew, swaying just
slightly with the very light breeze. There was a windmill just behind the
cabin.

At a distance of about seventy-five yards Longarm was ready to conclude
that the cabin was empty. He was able to see about half the corral, but he
didn't see any horses. Of course they might be bunched up against the back of
the cabin, seeking what shade there was.

All of a sudden he heard a thunk. Immediately there followed the report
of a gun that sounded like a rifle. Longarm felt his horse stumble, and he
knew the horse had been hit and was going down. He began, moving swiftly, to
get ready to dismount. As rapidly as he could he unwound the lead rope from
the saddlehorn so that the pack animal would be free. In the same motion he
drew his carbine out of the boot on the right side of his saddle. His eyes
were already searching the ground ahead for cover as he felt his horse go to
its knees. He heard the buzz of a bullet near his ear and then the sound of
the gun. With his carbine in his right hand, he was just able to grab his
canteen by its strap and step onto the ground as his horse, with a gurgle and
a sigh, fell forward onto the sandy prairie.

Stopping and weaving, Longarm ran forward, frantically looking for cover
of any kind. Ten yards further on he saw a little wash. It wasn't much, no
more than a little depression in the prairie floor some two feet deep by four
feet wide by ten feet long. A little clump of greasewood clung to one end.
Longarm lunged for the wash just as another bullet kicked up dust no more than
a foot from his boot. He ran the last few yards and flung himself down,
hugging the bottom of the wash as another bullet ripped through the air over
his head.

For a moment he was content to lie still, doing his best to flatten
himself out. He was lying almost lengthwise in the wash, with his head just
slightly pointing toward the cabin. He'd managed to land behind a low fringe
of the greasewood bushes, but there was a heavier thicket to his right. All
of a sudden he realized he was still wearing his hat as another slug went
whizzing just over his head. As deftly as he could, without raising so much
as a shoulder blade, he eased his hat off and let it fall in the sandy, rocky
clay of the wallow. Then, using the toes of his boots and his elbows, he
worked himself along the edge of the wash until he'd reached the center of the
greasewood bramble. The worthless plant had grown thick along the top part of
the wash, a tribute to its ability to survive where nothing else could. At
the base of the greasewood were little stalks of woody growth about an inch
thick. They immediately curled up and onto themselves to form a tangled
bramble. Sometime past it must have rained, allowing the plant to take good
root and grow. Longarm could see it was starting to die, but he was grateful
it had lasted long enough to give him what shelter it could.

When he thought he was in a good enough position, he lifted his head just
enough to see over the edge of the wash and between the stalks of the
greasewood. He seemed to be exactly at the corner of the cabin. He was
facing one wall as much as he was facing the front of the little building. He
studied the place closely, looking for a weakness. The cabin had been built
of rocks, probably rocks that were handy nearby, and then chinked with adobe
mud. There was no porch, and the roof might as well be called flat. As
little as it rained in that country, there didn't appear to be any need for a
pitch that would allow the water to run off. As near as he could tell, the
roof was made of tin.

He could see a good part of the corral and, yes, there was at least one
horse in the back. All he could see was a tail and part of a rump.

But if his man was in there he'd be well supplied with horses, ready for
the last dash to the border and to Mexico.

A voice suddenly called out, "That you, Custis?"

Longarm lifted his head just enough to answer back. In the dry, thin air
of the high prairie, sound carried a great distance. He had only to raise his
voice slightly. He said, "Yeah, it's me. That you, Jack?"

"Yeah. How you been getting along?"

"Oh, pretty fair. How about you?"

"Can't complain. Pretty hot, I'd reckon."

"Well, it's that time of the year. What can you expect."

A bullet suddenly whipped through the greasewood, coming within a foot of
Longarm's face. He dropped instantly flat against the dirt. Out of the side
of his mouth he said, "Jack, I ain't gonna talk to you if you're gonna shoot
at the sound of my voice."

He could hear a laugh. "Hell, Custis, you can't blame me. I don't
reckon you've come for a social visit. I tell you, though, you can't trace
sound up here the way you can on lower ground. I bet I missed you a yard or
better."

"What you want to bet I ain't going to answer that."

Jack Shaw laughed again. "I'm right sorry about your horse, Longarm. I
hate to kill a horse."

"You done that one a favor. He was about to founder under me. He'd
already gone to trembling."

"Well, it's the way them damn heat waves shimmer. Throw your aim off. I
meant to take a shot at you, but you kept getting closer and closer and I
couldn't chance it in case I missed. You might have made you a one-man
cavalry charge right at the cabin. But I had to stop you. You can understand
that."

"You by yourself?"
Shaw said, "Well, I guess, like you said, I'll let you make a bet on that
one."

"Can't see how there'd be many of you left."
Shaw said, "I see you tracked along right in my prints. That was a
pretty handy piece of work. You know what's funny about this?"

"Naw."

"Wasn't a week ago I was talking about you. Right before we was gettin'
set to do this job I told the boys, I said, I hope to hell Longarm is off
somewhere else tending to something. He knows this here territory, and that
hombre is the last man you want on your trail. Sonofabitch don't give up."

"Them is kind words, Jack. And you ain't that easy to trail. Of course
you did slow yourself down by taking time out to kill off your gang. That
must have been some slick doings, Jack, getting rid of the whole bunch."

"What makes you think I did? How you know they ain't two or three of us
in here?"

Longarm eased an eye up over the edge of the wash, trying to figure out
if the voice was coming from one of the windows or the open front door.

He said, "Jack, I can still hear the sound of your rifle in my head. You
know as well as I do that every gun has its own sound. If there'd been more
than you in there, there would have been more than one gun shooting at me, and
I didn't hear but the one."

"You reachin' for that one, Custis."

"Aw, Jack, don't come that on me. Ain't you ever been in a blind fight
and figured out who was who and who was where by the sound of their individual
weapons?"

"Yeah, but I thought I was the only one could do it. I hate to hear it's
all that common."

"Oh, it ain't, Jack. You've gone and forgot you once explained that to
me when you was the sheriff at Eagle Pass. I thought it was a bunch of
whiskey talk until I taught myself to listen. Has come in right handy through
the years. Like now."

Shaw laughed. "Well, I'll be damned. Just shows a man ought to know
when to keep his mouth shut." There was a pause. "Yeah, me and you go back a
pretty good ways. I reckon we've drank more than a little whiskey together."

"That we have, Jack. That we have." Longarm eased his head around and
located his canteen. The strap was near his hand, and he pulled it to him and
felt the two-quart flask. It was less than half full. He unscrewed the top
and took just a little in his mouth to relieve the dry parching. A dry mouth
made it hard to talk, and he didn't want Shaw catching on to how thirsty he
was any sooner than necessary. He craned his head back a little further. His
dead horse lay some fifteen yards away. It might as well have been fifteen
miles. There was a big two-gallon canteen tied on the back of his saddle, and
there was food and smokes and whiskey in his saddlebags. He saw no way in the
world to get to it with any certainty of living through the experience.

The packhorse had stopped a few hundred yards away and was standing, all
four legs braced, his head down and the lead rope hanging to the ground. The
horse really wasn't a pack animal. He was just one of the horses that Longarm
had brought along that had been pressed into service for that purpose. On one
side he was carrying a big sack of corn, feed for the horses, and on the other
a twenty-gallon tin of water that Longarm had intended to use to water the
horses as they'd entered the badlands. Unfortunately, the tin had bumped up
against a rock and sprung a leak. It had emptied before Longarm had noticed.
But it wouldn't have mattered. All the feed and water in the world wouldn't
have saved the horses the way he'd been driving them.

Shaw said, "So you say you come across some unfortunate fetters fell upon
a hardship?"

Longarm said, "Yeah, if your middle name is hardship, Jack. That must
have been pretty slick the way you done them boys in one at a time without the
rest of them getting wise along the way."

"Is that how you figure there's only me in here, by the count you took?"

"Well, they was eight of you to start with. One man got killed at the
robbery by a foolhardy passenger. That left seven. I found two shot in the
back a little less then a mile after ya'll rode into the Mescal Mountains when
you was first getting away."

"Why you want to figure that was me? What makes you think we didn't draw
some fire getting away from that train?"

Longarm said, "Aw, hell, Jack, now you are cutting up cute. Them two
members of your gang was at least three quarters of a mile from the train, and
there was uneven ground between them and the site of the robbery. Hell,
Buffalo Bill, standing on top of one of them train cars, couldn't have made
that shot with a Sharps .50-caliber on the best day he ever saw and the wind
dead calm. Besides, both of them men was shot with a revolver. One of them
was shot so close the muzzle blast damn near set his shirt afire."

Longarm could hear Shaw chuckle. "Well, I got to hand it to you, Custis.
You are a hard man to fool. I ever tell you I used to admire you? Still do."

"Yeah, I used to admire you too, Jack."

"But not no more?"

Longarm thought a moment. "Well, we went in different directions. But
it ain't so much that. Used to be you played pretty fair. But I can't say
much for several cold-blooded murders back there. That clerk on the postal
car. That was a shade on the mean side. Shot him to pieces little by
little."

Shaw's voice came back, heated with indignation. "Now just a damn
minute. That was Original Greaser Bob's work. That clerk wouldn't open the
safe for us. I was plannin' on twisting his arm or something that hurt pretty
good, but next thing I knew Greaser Bob commenced to shooting the poor bastard
in the elbow and the leg and the belly. I hated to see it and I wouldn't
never have done it, but I got to say it impressed the hell out of the other
clerk. Didn't take him no time to decide to open up that safe."

"Was more than one killed there, Jack."

"I killed the passenger and I killed the fireman. And I wounded the
engineer. But that was different. They was armed and was attempting to kill
me. Hell, Custis, you know me pretty good."

"I admit it didn't look like your style, Jack, but you never know--folks
change."

"I ain't changed that much and you can bet your last pair of boots on
it."

Longarm made a dry chuckle. "Way the situation looks I may be wearin'
them."
Shaw said, "Well, hell, ain't no use being strangers about this matter.
I'm settin' here in the shade drinkin' whiskey. Whyn't you come on UP and
help me put a dent in this jug?"

Longarm said, "Guess you didn't hear, Jack. I quit drinkin'. Give it
up."

"Joined the Women's Christian Temperance Union, have you?"

"Took the veil." Back in his saddlebags, unless they'd been broken when
his horse had fallen, were two quarts of the finest Maryland rye whiskey. It
almost physically hurt Longarm to think how close they were and yet so far
away. But he knew, as low as he was on water, it was no time to be drinking
whiskey. Whiskey dried you out, made you more thirsty than you'd normally be.
The whiskey would have to wait.

But then his overall situation wasn't of the best, at least not to his
way of thinking. He pulled his rifle near him and looked to see if there was
dirt in the barrel or the slide chamber. The carbine was a Winchester
.44-caliber lever-action model that was accurate up to about five hundred
yards. It fired the same caliber cartridge as his revolver, which was a Colt
with a six-inch barrel. He had an extra handgun of the same make and caliber,
but with a nine-inch barrel. Unfortunately, it was in his saddlebags. It
seemed that everything he could put to good use was in his saddlebags,
including his extra ammunition. He knew he had six shells in his carbine and
six in his revolver, and he knew, because it was his habit, that he had some
extra cartridges in his shirt pocket, his right-hand pocket, the one he didn't
carry his cigars and his matches in. Moving carefully, he reached his hand up
and dug down in the pocket, hoping he'd been extra generous with himself. He
tilted his chest forward and let the shells drop out in his palm. There were
seven. He had a grand total of nineteen cartridges, and no way to get any
more without getting shot about five times in the attempt.

He ran his tongue around his dry mouth and peered through the greasewood
at the cabin. There was no movement of any kind, not even a shadow. Half
reluctantly he took a brutal inventory of his situation.

He was pinned down in a very precarious position against a man he knew to
be smart, skilled, and willing. He was very low on ammunition, lower on
water, and had no food whatsoever. He was exposed to a brutal sun, which
would make his need for water all the greater, and help was a minimum of two
or three days away, even assuming the help could find their way. He couldn't
get to a horse, and even if he could, the animal wasn't fit to travel.
Meanwhile, his adversary was in the shade, had food and water, not to mention
whiskey, and was in a very defensible position. More than likely Jack Shaw
was well mounted with spare horses to boot. Looked at from a realistic point
of view, Longarm had to admit to himself that he really didn't have the best
of it.

Shaw called from the cabin. "Longarm, that packhorse of yours is moving
around."

Longarm looked over his shoulder. He could see the poor animal
staggering around aimlessly. Each time he tried to take a step he seemed to
step on his lead rope. It jerked his head and made the animal rear back in
fright. One of the horses behind the barn nickered. The pack animal lifted
his head and flicked his ears.

Longarm heard a creaking. He looked toward the cabin. There was a
little windmill behind the cabin, and enough of a breeze had sprung up to turn
its rusty blades. it would be pumping water, and Longarm hoped the packhorse
would smell it and somehow get over to the corral. He said, "Jack, if that
packhorse gets over your way, how about letting him in the corral so he can
get some water?"

"Why don't you lead him over?"

"C'mon, Jack, this ain't Something to fun around about."

"You must be funning around if you think I'm going to leave off watching
you and go out the back of the cabin to let your horse in. I reckon when I
come back I'd find you sitting in my rocking chair and drinking my whiskey and
waiting to put a bullet in my belly."

"You know that ain't my style. I give you my word I won't move an inch
if you can help the horse."

"Ain't worth the risk, Longarm. Not even as much as I think of you.
Hell, I don't even trust myself that much."

Longarm swore. "Then goddammit, put a bullet through his head and put
him out of his misery." The horses in the corral nickered again, and this
time the packhorse answered them. Longarm saw him putting his head up, trying
to smell, but the wind was wrong for him to scent the water.

Shaw said, "Why don't you put a bullet in him." There was a pause, and
then Longarm heard Shaw chuckle. "Or are you low on ammunition? Seems I
recall you never carried extra shells in your gunbelt. Said they were too
heavy. I don't neither for the same reason, but then I got me several boxes
full right here. I bet you got just what you bailed Off your horse with when
you flung yourself down in that little ditch. You know I missed you on
purpose, don't you?"

"You gonna bullshit me, Jack?"

"Hell, if I'd of killed you who would I have to talk to? I was getting
lonesome till I saw you come out of those foothills way back yonder. I knew
it was you when you wasn't no more than a speck."

Longarm stared at the baked earth beneath his face and shook his head.

He didn't want to think about it too severely at the moment, but he was
pretty sure he should have handled the situation differently. If his horses
had had one more mile in them, he'd have ridden around the cabin and looked it
over from the rear. That way he'd have had Shaw boxed in, unless he cared to
flee on foot, which wouldn't be very smart.

Longarm wasn't sure if he was going to get out of the mess he'd gotten
himself in, but he desperately dreaded having to write the report that would
be due following the outcome. His boss, Billy Vail, who delighted in any
stumbles Longarm made, would never let him forget it.

Shaw said, "Reason I mentioned about that packhorse of yours is that if
he comes wanderin' over here and wants to get in a line between us, I'll have
to drop him before he can do that. You be close enough now. I wouldn't care
to have you come rushing forward and using the animal for cover."

"Still thinking ahead, eh, Jack?"

"Never be as good at it as you are."

"Yeah. That's why I'm in this ditch and you're in the shade."

"Ain't gettin' hot, is it?"

"No, no. Fact is I was just wishing I had my ducking jacket. Getting a
little chilly out here."

He heard Shaw laugh. He could feel his shirt getting resoaked for about
the third time that day. He reckoned the garment was mostly salt by now. A
drop of sweat fell off his nose as he wiped his brow, trying to keep the salt
out of his eyes. He glanced up at the relentless sun, trying to gauge how
long until dusk. He said, "What time you got, Jack?"

"Why, you got a train to catch?"

"Just curious. My watch stopped."

He could hear Shaw chuckle. Then the outlaw said, "I reckon you are
calculating on how long it is to dark. I think you got it in your mind to
maybe make some kind of play in the blackness. Well, friend Longarm, I'd
chuck that one out the window. Gonna be moon bright. Moon going to be as
full tonight as it gets. Going to be that way for two, three more nights.
Hell, if you had one, you'd be able to read a newspaper be so light."

Longarm cursed silently to himself
"Well, I'm glad to have your word on
that, Jack."

"What the hell you think I'm doing still here with the border no more
than a day and a half away? Waiting for a dark night. I'd just as soon folks
kept on looking for me around here instead of stirring up the Mexican
authorities. You know that Mex law, Longarm. They don't give a damn about
me, but if they get word about how much gold I'm carrying, they are likely to
take a right smart interest. So I kind of planned to be just as quiet and
easy when I cross on over. Sort of keep it my secret."

"Well, looks like we're going to have plenty of time for a good visit,
Jack."
Shaw said, "Well, I don't know about that, Longarm. I got a look at the
size of that canteen you was toting when you scrambled for that ditch. Even
if it was full, which I doubt, you'd have a hell of a time making two days on
that piddling amount of water. That sun will sweat the fluid out of you,
Custis. I know. It'll draw it right on out like a whore suckin' the money
out of your pocket. Or maybe suckin' something else out of you, if you take
my meaning."

Longarm was quiet for a moment. Then he said easily, "Well, Jack, when
you come right down to it, we might not have to wait long at all to settle
this little question. You are sitting in there in a square rock cabin and I
got a real good angle at two windows and a door. I got steel-jacketed
cartridges in this carbine, and it occurs to me I might go to letting some
shots off through them windows and those steel slugs might get to ricocheting
around and around in that little room and one of them might pass through your
body. I know it ain't exactly precision shooting, but it's the best I can
come up with under the circumstances."

Shaw said, "Aw, hell, Longarm, let me get these jeans off so you can pull
my leg better. You ain't got the ammunition for that kind of play. You hit
the ground with a pistol on your hip and a carbine in one hand and a canteen
in the other. Unless you was carrying cartridges in that canteen, you got
just what you've got loaded."

"You wouldn't care to bet your life on that, would you?" Longarm waited
a moment. "You know, them cartridge heads get to flying off rock and
sometimes they split apart and they'll be rock fragments flying. Might get a
bit warm in there."

Shaw laughed. "I got to give you credit, Custis. YOU still ain't lost
your touch. I bet you talked more men down in a fight than you ever gunned
down. And it takes a man of your reputation--fairly earned, I might add--to
do that. But there is one slight error in your plan. They is a root cellar
in here and the first time you let fly, I am going to be down in it with a gun
in each hand waiting for you to walk through the front door."

Longarm thought a moment. His legs were starting to cramp up from the
fixed position he'd been lying in. He didn't reckon he'd ever been so
uncomfortable in his life. Then he said, "You wouldn't be lying about that,
would you, Jack?"

"No more than you're lying about your ammunition."

They were both quiet for a time, thinking it over. Finally Longarm said,
That whiskey making you sleepy, Jack?"

"Oh, no. No, no, no. I've had me a good rest. Got here early last
night and been sleeping and dozing ever since. How about you?"

"Oh, the same. Fact of the business I've had too much sleep."

"Slept, did you, whilst you was trailing me?"

"Aw, yeah. Soon as I had you lined out, I just pointed the horse and
relaxed in the saddle and slept most of the night away. In fact I overslept
breakfast. Horse wouldn't stop."

They were both quiet for a while. Then Shaw said, "This is mighty good
whiskey, Custis. Shore you won't have some?"

"Jack, you know what I reckon? I reckon we got us a standoff here. I
guess you'd call it a Mexican close as we are to the border."

Shaw laughed. "Now who be doing the bull-shitting? Hell, Longarm, I can
get on a horse and ride out of here anytime I'm of a mind."

Longarm shook his head slowly even though Shaw couldn't see him. "I
wouldn't count on that, Jack. Not day or night. I got an angle on that
corral and I would see you trying to slip off. You have seen me shoot. And
like you said, I can make sure of it by shooting your horses. Naw, I wouldn't
count on that."
There was silence for a time. Then Shaw said, "You know, Custis, all I
got to do is go out that back door, climb up on the roof, and you will be in
plain sight. Easy pickings."

"Jack, that roof is flat as your first wife's chest. You show yourself
up there and you gonna be the one in plain sight. Right over a pair of iron
sights. I couldn't miss if I tried."

Shaw said, "Longarm, I am starting to regret you paying me this visit.
Course we've got the night to go yet, and then tomorrow. And don't be too
sure I can't get away from you while you are napping. I can lay up nearer to
the border and be just as happy while I wait for a dark night."

Longarm glanced at the sun again. If anything it seemed higher in the
sky. He felt as if he had been talking to Jack Shaw for the better part of
the afternoon, but time just wouldn't seem to pass. He glanced over at the
packhorse, who had moved a little nearer to the corral but had apparently not
smelled the water. But now the little breeze had died and the windmill had
stopped creaking around. He felt sorry for the poor old horse, but he didn't
know what he could do. He couldn't waste a cartridge. He had few enough as
it was.

He shifted around, trying to get more comfortable. The canteen was
temptingly close to his hand, but he knew he dared not drink yet. He
calculated he was in for a long siege. He yawned. It frightened him.

To sleep was as good as a bullet through the head. But Lord, was he
tired! He felt like he'd been dragged behind a stampede for a hundred miles.
Every part of his body ached, and he had lied pretty much as big as it was
possible to lie about the sleep he'd gotten. He reckoned in the last five
days he hadn't amassed more than ten, maybe twelve hours total. It had been
hard tracking as the outlaw gang had left one small range of mountains and cut
over and picked up another one, all the time heading generally south. He'd
wasted valuable time following false leads left by other men who'd passed
through the same country, and lost ground and time climbing down into gullies
to discover the bodies of the outlaws that Shaw had been slowly eliminating
one after the other.

Shaw called out, "Hey, Custis! You ain't sleepin', are you?"

"Naw. Just wonderin' what kind of deal me and you can make. You give
yourself up and I'll split the reward money the railroad is sure to put up on
you."

"Tch, tch, tch. Custis, I'm ashamed of you, lying like that. You didn't
used to carry on so. You and I both know that federal marshals can't collect
reward money. What you want to go and tell me a whopper like that for?"

"Just passing the time, Jack. All I got to do."

"Whyn't you tell me how you tracked us? That'd make pretty good
listening."

"Why don't you tell me how you managed to do away with that bunch so
you'd have all the money to yourself without a couple of them getting wise
somewhere along the line?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Your riding partners, your gang. The men you killed."

Shaw laughed. "Why, listen to you, Custis. Next thing you'll be
accusing me of robbing trains."

"C'mon, tell it. Either you are slicker than I thought, or them was one
dumb bunch of outlaws."

The words were no more than out of his mouth than he heard the faint hiss
of a bullet and felt the breeze as it passed just in front of his forehead.
The hard crack of the rifle came right on the heels of the passing slug.
Longarm ducked instinctively, drawing his revolver as he did, and edged an eye
over the rim of the wash. Somehow Jack Shaw had gotten a better angle, found
a higher position to allow him to aim down on Longarm.

His glimpse caught Jack Shaw just stepping down from a chair by the side
of the door. Longarm shoved his revolver through the brush and fired as Shaw
was jumping back. He saw the slug catch the leg of the chair, making
splinters fly and jerking the chair out of Shaw's hand.

He'd fired too quickly to have had any hope of hitting the outlaw, but he
had to make the man understand he couldn't take too many liberties.

From the cabin he could hear Shaw laughing. "Hell, Longarm, ain't no use
getting all upset. Yore hair looked like it needed parting. You didn't have
to ruin my chair."
Longarm said dryly, "I bet you got other'ns, Jack. But let me give you a
piece of advice. Stay off of them. Man can get hurt standing on chairs.
Especially around doors or windows."

"I guess that means you ain't going to come up for a drink. Bad
business, a man drinking alone."

"Jack, if you'd like to give yourself up I reckon I could be forced to
take a drink. Just step on out the door with your hands in the air and that
will settle everything."
Shaw said dryly, "I'd like to, Longarm, I damn shore would. But I got a
idea you'd want me to go to that Cross-bar Hotel in Yuma for more than a few
years. Problem with that is some of the folks living there be ones I put
there myself when I was on the other side of the badge. You can see my point,
can't you? I reckon those folks might not treat me too kindly."

Longarm glanced up as he noticed the packhorse slowly trudging toward the
corral. He'd stepped on his lead rope so often that it had finally broken off
at the halter. But Longarm could see that the load the horse was bearing was
shifting toward the corn side. The water drum was empty on the other side,
and the weight of the corn was gradually pulling the load down on one side of
the horse's flanks. Soon enough it would spook the horse and he'd go to
kicking at it. The result of that, as soon as the horse spooked, would be a
broken leg or neck or both.

The little breeze had picked up again and the horse had sniffed the
water. As he neared the corral, Longarm could see the horses inside come
crowding over to the railing of the pen. He counted five horses.

They all looked in good shape. Longarm guessed that the horses Shaw had
driven hard had been turned loose when they'd played out. He watched as the
packhorse came up to the corral fence. The horses inside pressed forward
eagerly, reaching out with their muzzles to test and smell and identify this
newcomer.

Shaw said, "C'mon, Custis, tell me how you trailed us. That was a job of
work you done. I never figured nobody could stay with our tracks the route I
took. And how did you get onto us so fast? Hell, I didn't beat you to this
cabin by much more than twelve hours, maybe fourteen. You must have been hell
on quick at getting to the site of the robbery."

Chapter 2

By the sheerest of coincidences, Longarm had been in Globe, Arizona
Territory, when the wire had come into the depot that the train out of Phoenix
had been robbed. Globe was about two hundred miles east of Phoenix, a mining
and garrison town that had been a stopover for Longarm on his way back to
Denver from a job in New Mexico. The wire had been sent by the conductor,
who'd tapped into the telegraph line by the side of the track with his
emergency sending device, getting out word that the train had been robbed some
forty miles west of Globe and that the engineer and fireman had been killed.
It turned out later that the engineer had not been fatally wounded, but then
neither was he in condition to drive a train.

Longarm immediately commandeered an engine and a stock car from the
railroad and bought four horses from a livery. There was an army post ten
miles outside of town where he could have got more and better mounts, but he
didn't have the time to spare. He had no help and no deputies. He was the
only officer, outside of the U.S. Army, with total jurisdiction throughout the
territory. The town marshal's authority extended no further than the city
limits. The sheriff was the law only in the county where he'd been elected.
It was for this very reason that the Marshal's Service had been created, and
Longarm had set out solo without the slightest thought of seeking help.

What with one thing and another, four hours had passed by the time he
reached the motionless train where the robbery had taken place. After that,
more time had been wasted while he'd tried to organize the passengers and
train crew into a manageable body that could supply him with information. The
passengers were understandably excited and frantic, since some members of the
gang had gone among them robbing them of small amounts of cash and what
jewelry they'd had. Some of the women had been fondled and kissed, and more
than one man had been clubbed with a revolver.

With patient questioning Longarm was finally able to get a picture of the
gang. It took only a few descriptive words about the man who seemed to be the
leader for Longarm to realize that he was dealing with Jack Shaw. His heart
sank. Shaw was a handful, not only because he was tough and ruthless and
intelligent, but because he'd been a lawman and could think like one. There
was no question it was Shaw. The crew and passengers described a tall, spare
man who looked, in the words of one passenger, "about as lean and hard as a
skillet lid." That could have described a lot of men, but the clincher was
the birthmark on Shaw's right cheek. It was a little bigger than a silver
dollar, red in color, and roughly heart-shaped. More than one man had
regretted calling Shaw Cupid or asking whose valentine he was. He had
immediately drawn the conductor's attention by the businesslike way he'd
gotten into the mail car and then into the safe. The conductor said, "He went
at it like he knew what was in there, that we were carrying a payroll. That
man had advance word that there was a good chunk of money on this train. I'd
stake my life on it."

And more than one had. The bandits had attacked when the train had
stopped for water at a regular stop along the way. The engineer and the
conductor had been rash enough to draw their guns and fight. They hadn't
fought long, not against eight determined killers. After the outlaws had
gotten the train stopped, Shaw and two other men had turned their attention to
the mail car, leaving the rest of the gang to terrify the three coaches of
passengers. At one point, when it appeared some of the women might be raped,
the conductor had appealed to the man with the birthmark to intervene. He
had, to the point of shooting at one of his own men and telling the rest in no
uncertain terms that their job was to disarm the passengers and then to get
outside and watch from defensive positions.

Longarm asked about the outlaw Shaw had shot. The conductor shrugged and
said, "Oh, he wasn't hurt all that bad. But it had a salutory effect on the
rest of that murderous bunch. They hopped to their jobs Johnny quick and no
mistake."

But there had been a dead outlaw. The conductor thought that the
engineer or the fireman had killed him. "I can't say," he explained. "The
guns was goin' off like firecrackers. You never heard such a racket in your
life."

The conductor was anxious to get his train into Globe and see about the
wounded, several of whom were passengers. Longarm unloaded his horses, along
with the provisions he'd thrown together hurriedly in Globe, and made ready to
take up the trail. The small train he'd brought from Globe pushed forward and
hooked onto the engine of the train that had been robbed. It would be slow
going, but Longarm's train would have to back all the way to Globe towing the
other one.

But before he left, Longarm had the conductor hook into the telegraph
wire again. There was a troop of Arizona Rangers outside of Phoenix, and he
had the conductor wire their commander details of the robbery and word that
he, Deputy U.S. Marshal Custis Long, was taking up the chase and would try to
leave sign along the way for them to follow. He told the Rangers to get to
the site with all possible speed and follow him as best they could. He added,
"Leader is Jack Shaw. Have reason to believe they will head south for Mexico,
but can't be sure.

Don't think it wise to try and intercept their line of flight as Shaw
very smart and unpredictable. Suggest you begin at scene of robbery."

After that there was nothing to do but take up the chase. He added such
provisions and water as he could out of the train larder and the freight cars.
It was an incomplete and unwieldy load, but speed was of the essence. So he
took what he could, threw it on a horse, and got underway. It was vital that
he stay on a hot trail. Once it cooled, Shaw could make off in any direction.
Longarm had no doubt that his final goal was the Mexican border, but there was
absolutely no way of telling at what point he'd choose to cross. Notifying
the law along the border would do no good, since they would be looking for a
will-o'-the-wisp who might go silently and invisibly in any direction.

Longarm rode away from the train, knowing he had already lost valuable
time, but still hurrying all he could. A short distance into the crags and
gullies of the foothills of the Mescal Mountains he found the first two
bodies. Both had been shot in the back. One of them had been Original
Greaser Bob. The other one Longarm didn't recognize, just as he hadn't
recognized the outlaw who'd been killed at the train. That was another habit
of Jack Shaw's. He seldom used the same men on consecutive holdups, or even
the same men ever. Jack Shaw was a very careful and secretive man, and it was
said that a lot of the men who went out on jobs with Shaw had a bad habit of
never being seen again.

More than one sheriff or deputy had been heard to comment that Shaw was
doing more to clean up the country than when he was wearing a badge. There
was even talk that Jack Shaw wasn't a man who liked to share, but just as
quick as such word would get around, Shaw would pull a job with three or four
partners and every one of them would swear by the man. Longarm had been a
full thirty hours tracking the gang through the Mescals before he'd broken out
into clear country. For a few miles the sign was plain. The party, now
reduced to five men, had been heading due south. Then, in a patch of rock,
the sign faded. Longarm spent a frustrating three hours until he located the
bunch heading east. Then they'd turned south again and entered the Santa
Teresa mountain range. If anything, it was rougher going than the Mescals.
He lost his first horse there, a little dun that he'd known was too soft from
livery life to stand the kind of pace he'd forced it to maintain. He turned
the horse loose and tried to herd him down into a little draw which appeared
to have grass and water. The dun was frightened, but the off-the-trail
excursion led Longarm to an interesting discovery. He found an outlaw known
as Hank Jelkco. It surprised Longarm because the man was known to be a
smalltime cattle thief down along the border. Train robbery, as near as
Longarm had heard, was a little out of his line. But the discovery of the
body cut the party he was chasing down to four. Longarm had a pretty good
idea that it was going to get smaller as it went along.

Jack Shaw didn't like to share.

The killing of Original Greaser Bob had surprised Longarm because Greaser
Bob Landrum had been one of the few men who had consistently ridden with Jack
Shaw. Longarm could only conclude that he had outlasted his usefulness. Or
maybe Shaw had gotten tired of the silliness. Greaser Bob wasn't called that
because he was Mexican. At some point in the past he had gotten in the habit
of staining his face and hands with walnut juice, made by boiling walnut
shells in water, to make himself appear as a Mexican. But since he looked
nothing like a Mexican, the skin coloring fooled no one. He'd picked up the
name Original when others had tried the trick, hoping to have the authorities
hunting for Mexican bandits while they washed off the stain and went on their
way as gringos.

Halfway through the Santa Teresas he came upon a cold campfire with a
dead man lying beside it. Longarm didn't know the man, but he recognized the
three bullet holes in the man's chest. Beside him, on the ground, was a tin
plate of beans. It didn't appear he'd been given time to take a single bite.
Longarm figured that Shaw had either picked a quarrel with the man, or had
convinced the others that their accomplice was planning to steal the booty and
make off with it some night when they were asleep.

Longarm finally followed the trail out of the Santa Teresas with the
weakest of his three horses beginning to fade. That worried him. In the
mountains there had been water and good grass and he'd paused long enough,
knowing what was coming, to let the animals build up as much strength as they
could.

Out of the mountain range Shaw had taken another straight southerly
course. It was not bad traveling except for the heat. There was grass and an
occasional water hole, and Longarm snatched what sleep he could and rested the
horses when he could, but he could tell, from the age of the sign, that he
wasn't making up much ground. All the way, since he'd left the train, he'd
been leaving his own sign for the Arizona Rangers. He'd broken limbs, and
stacked rocks, and had even torn up a shirt and used strips of it to mark the
way. But now, out on the flats of the high plateaus, all he could do was ride
his horses in a circle every so often and hope the Rangers weren't blind.

Then Shaw had abruptly cut west and entered the Galiuro range, which
wasn't so much mountains as a series of low mounds with deep gullies, sharp
crags, and slash precipices. There was almost no growth through the badlands
since most of the ground was rock. It was halfway through the rough country
that his next horse came up lame. He turned the horse loose and set back in
on the trail. At first, he'd been trading off riding the three strongest
horses, using the fourth, the weakest, to carry the pack. Then he'd been down
to two saddle mounts. Finally he was down to one. He'd been on the trail
four days and four nights, and he didn't know if he could catch Shaw before he
made it to the border.

Once out on the flat land again, the going appeared to be fairly easy.

The trail, especially with the number of horses Shaw had, was relatively
easy to follow. Leaving the Galiuro range, he had taken a southwesterly
heading, just about what Longarm had expected he would do. Longarm was so
confident of the trail that he made an early camp on the fifth night out,
hoping to get a few hours' sleep. Then, sometime during the late night, a
hurricane-like wind blew up, not uncommon in that high desert country, and by
the first light of dawn, Longarm could see that all traces of Shaw and his
crowd had been blown away. All he could do was go ahead on the last known
course, follow it, and hope.

About noon his hopes were rewarded. The country had been descending.

In a little grove of trees he found traces of a campfire, a lot of horse
tracks, and the bodies of Shaw's last two henchmen. Both of them had been
shot in the back.

Unfortunately, the camp had been made right at a rock-rimmed canyon.

That Shaw had crossed it, Longarm had no doubt, but he could not find a
single trace of sign or proof of Shaw's passage. He pushed on in the
southwesterly direction, calculating that Shaw would want to cross the border
in a long, lonely stretch between Nogales and Douglas. But it was a lot of
country to find one man in, especially a man who had five horses to ride to
Longarm's one.

He had no choice except to push his tired horses across the trackless
waste, sharing with them what little water he had left in the big canteen,
once he'd discovered the mishap that had befallen the big tin of water he'd
been counting on. The corn helped some, but the horses were too thirsty to
chew it good. Most of it fell out of their mouths.

Then, finally, he spotted the line shack and rode forward and into
trouble. He'd found Jack Shaw, but Jack Shaw had found him in equal measure.

An hour had passed without conversation between them. Longarm had stayed
alert, watching for any movement of the horses in the corral that would
indicate Shaw was trying to slip out of the back and mount and ride south.
Longarm didn't really expect him to make such a dumb play, especially in the
daytime. If he tried it, his move would come at night, probably very close to
dawn, when the moon would have been down for at least an hour and the sun was
yet to come. The old expression that it was darkest just before dawn was a
true one and useful.

Shaw said, breaking the silence, "Custis, you never did tell me how you
come to get on our track so quick. Or is that a government secret?"

"Not if you'll tell me how you done in Hank Jelkco. He didn't have a
mark on him."

"You found ol' Hank? Hell, I went to considerable trouble to roll him
down in the bottom of a gully. What was you doing down in there?"

"Trying to drive a dumb horse that was played out down to grass and
water. Lo and behold, there was ol' Hank, dead as a whore's hopes. He'd
fetched up against a little sapling. How did he come to depart this life?"

"Aw, I strangled the sonofabitch. It was the first night we really made
a camp to rest up. I had the watch and when the others was asleep, I just
cranked my hands around his neck and squeezed. He never even made a gurgle.
Then I drug him over to that draw and rolled him off. Told the boys the next
day that it appeared he'd taken a sack of money when my back was turned and
lit out."

"And they believed that?"

Shaw laughed. "Custis, ain't you never noticed I don't pick the boys
that go to the head of the class to ride with me? All I want them there for
is to give anybody with a gun a choice of who to shoot at. Cuts down the odds
on me being the one selected. I was holding the loot and wasn't a one of them
knew how much we had, so they didn't know if there was any missing or not.
You got to remember, these boys are a mite on the selfish side. Hank was just
one less to share with."

"What about his horse?"

"I said it appeared he took off on foot, which was smart. Make him
harder to trail. I said ol' Hank could go for days on foot. They didn't know
one another, so they'd believe anything. Now how about you?"

"I was in Globe when ya'll done the deed."

He could almost see Shaw shaking his head back and forth. "Well, that
was a bad piece of luck. If I'd known you was that handy I'd of give the
whole thing up. But how'd you know about the holdup? We was forty miles from
Globe."

Longarm smiled to himself. He knew what he was about to say would
irritate the hell out of Jack Shaw. "Conductor got up one of them telegraph
poles and hooked in and sent a message. I got it within an hour."

There was a momentary silence, and then Jack Shaw's voice came back,
stunned and indignant. "You tellin' me the damn telegraph line wasn't cut!"

Longarm chuckled quietly to himself. He too had been surprised,
especially when he had discovered that Jack Shaw was the leader.

"Shore as hell wasn't, Jack. That's how come I'm here."

Shaw started cursing. Longarm estimated that he went on for a full two
or three minutes without repeating himself. Longarm considered it a pretty
fair exhibition of offhand swearing with no preparation.

Finally Shaw ran down. He said, "That damn Hank Jelkco got off way too
light. That was his job, his job especially. Instead he got mixed up in that
bunch that was robbing the passengers of nickels and dimes and jewelry.
Kissin' women and such. Well, I'll be a sad sonofabitch!"

Shaw was quiet for a moment. Finally he said, "Lord, I wish I had him to
kill all over again. I damn well guarantee you I wouldn't strangle him in his
sleep. No, sir. I'd roast the sonofabitch over a slow fire. Damn! Damn,
damn, damn!"
Longarm said, "Well, Jack, I know how you must feel, but it was your job.
You go to leaving them important details to somebody else and you see what can
happen."

"When you're right you're right, Longarm. I guess I ought to be kicking
myself. Hell, I normally wouldn't even let an idiot like Hank Jelkco steal a
horse with me, but after Greaser Bob he was about the smartest hand I had."

Longarm whistled. "You was just about out of help."

"Longarm, you wouldn't believe the sad quality of folks you can find in
this line of work. Did you notice that kid that was laying near Greaser Bob?"

"Yeah, but I didn't recognize him."

"He was a farm boy from Oklahoma. Never done nothing like this before in
his life. The only thing he'd ever held up was his hand in school to get
permission to go outside and take a piss. That'll give you some idea of what
things have come to."

Longarm frowned. "That don't sound right, Jack. There's plenty of good
guns along the border."

Shaw laughed. "Oh, the border. Hell, yes, the border. But do you
reckon I'm going to be going down there and hanging round recruiting a bunch
of folks? Hell, Longarm, don't talk like you got a cornbread ass and a
watermelon mouth."

Longarm nodded as if Shaw could see him. "Yeah, I reckon you're right.
You are a little too well known down in those parts to be spending much time."

"See, it's all right for you. You play a lone hand. You ain't got
nobody to fault or praise but yourself. And don't think I don't envy you
that. If I could get away with it, that's exactly the way I'd operate."

Longarm chuckled softly. "Well, I don't know, Jack. Right now I
wouldn't mind having a few extra hands placed round that shack of yours. I
figure we could make it pretty warm for you."

"I can't get over you riding up here like that. I nearly couldn't
believe my eyes when I had you in my sights."

"What would you have had me do, Jack? Camp out there a half mile off and
wait? What if this cabin had been empty. I'd of looked like a damn fool.
I've already told you I didn't have a pound of horseflesh left."

"You got smokes?"

"Yeah, but not many."

"I got plenty in here. Them little packages of Mexican cigarillos.
Didn't you used to smoke them at one time?"

"You know me, Jack. I'll smoke a lariat rope if it's got any age on it
and at least been cured in the sun."

"Well, ain't no need of you savin' yours. I'm a pretty good chunker. I
reckon I could land one of these little packs in yore ditch if it come to
need. I don't like to see a man suffer. Go ahead and light up.

Longarm tried to make his voice sound a little hoarse. "Tell you the
truth, Jack, my mouth is full of cotton. I reckon I better quit talking for a
while and maybe work up a little spit. Smoke don't taste so good on a dry
mouth."

Shaw laughed wryly. "Plenty of water in here, Custis. Welcome to come
on in and help yourself."

Longarm didn't bother to answer. He was working himself around to where
he could hang an eye over the edge of the wash and have a good view of the
cabin. But he had to find a position he'd be comfortable in because he had an
idea he'd have to be able to hold it for quite some time. He kept easing
around, moving his body slightly this way and that, until he found a position
that allowed him to rest his face on a little hump in the front wall of the
wash and still be able to peek over the edge and see the cabin through the
roots of the greasewood brambles. He had carefully placed his revolver right
next to his head, and now he reached back and gingerly drew his carbine up to
his side where it was instantly handy.

After that he rested a few moments, making sure he was in a comfortable
enough position that he wouldn't have to move for at least a half an
hour--longer if necessary.

As he carefully worked a small cigar, along with a match, out of his
left-hand shirt pocket, he wondered if Jack Shaw really thought he was that
dumb. Well, he thought, he would soon find out. He took a quick glance
toward the cabin, then ducked his head down into the ditch, striking the match
with his thumbnail as he did. In a second he had applied the flame to the
little cigar, taken a hard puff to get it burning, and then quickly extended
it to his left as far as his arm would reach, laying the cigar down. The
smoke was just starting to curl upward from the burning end of the cigar as he
got his face back on its resting place and his eye focused on the cabin.

He calculated that the smoke had risen no higher than a foot in the air
when three slugs came slamming into the rear bank of the wash, cutting dirt
off the leading edge and going right through the smoke. The crack, crack,
crack of the rifle boomed loud in the thin air. Longarm was able to see that
Shaw had fired around the edge of the door, the near edge, which did not
expose his body. Almost as soon as the last blast of the rifle had reached
his ears, Longarm let out a faint, but what he hoped was a believable, groan.
Then he went very quiet, almost willing himself not to breath. His left eye,
peering just over the edge of the wash, was glued on the front and the side of
the cabin.

Some time passed. Longarm had no idea how much, except the sun seemed to
suddenly get hotter and he developed an itch right between his shoulder
blades. It was agony to just lay there, unable to twitch so much as a muscle.

After what seemed forever Jack Shaw said tentatively, "Longarm? Longarm?

Custis?"

Longarm lay motionless, almost afraid to breathe. There was no sign of
movement from the cabin, not even a head stuck quickly around the door and
then pulled back.

A few more minutes passed and Shaw said, "Aw, c'mon, Longarm. I was jest
funnin' with you. Them slugs never went within ten feet of you.

Now quit hoorahin' me. Speak up, man. Ain't you had enough time to work
up enough spit to talk?"

Longarm couldn't be sure, but he thought he detected a note in Shaw's
voice suggesting a fish who was thinking about taking the bait. But until
something happened, all he could do was cling to the front face of the wash
and watch, almost unblinking. Longarm was acutely aware that if his chance
came, and it was a long shot in more ways than one, he'd have the smallest
portion of a second to make his play. And he knew he'd be stiff and
slow-moving from lying in one position so long.

Shaw said, his voice more urgent, "Aw, cut it out, Custis. Hell, I was
jest funnin' around with them shots. You layin' in there playin' possum an'
waitin' for me to bite. Well, I ain't gonna do it. So you go ahead and see
how long you can lay still and not move or talk.

Meanwhile, I think I'll have me a drink of whiskey."

By cutting his eye to the left, Longarm could see one of his last cigars
slowly burning up without him getting a puff. A full inch of ash was showing.
And the itch had moved until it was now down in the small of his back. Pretty
soon, he reckoned, his leg would go to cramping up.

All of a sudden there came a flurry of shots whipping dirt up on the
front edge of the wash and clipping through the greasewood. One of the shots
hit so close to Longarm's face that it would have knocked dirt in his eye if
he hadn't shut it just in time. Longarm reflected that the shots were too
accurate to have been fired from a pistol, at the distance the cabin was. He
guessed that Shaw had fired and reloaded as fast as he could work the lever of
his rifle. It had been an impressive display, and served to remind Longarm
that he was fooling with a seriously dangerous and competent man. And
intelligent.

But Shaw had something else that made him far more dangerous. Or better
yet, he was missing something. Longarm knew there was a word for it, but he
couldn't call it to mind. Shaw didn't seem to care about anything, especially
the wrong or right of matters. He just flat didn't seem to have a conscience
of any kind. Longarm had heard it said of some men that they'd "as soon shoot
you as look at you."

Jack Shaw was the only man he'd ever met whom he felt that was completely
true of. And yet Shaw could be just as good company as a man could want.
Longarm had had many a drink with him, many a conversation, maybe even shared
some of the same women. But Shaw didn't seem to have what most people had
inside them, something that told him when he'd come to a stopping place.

Longarm could feel his left shoulder start to cramp, and there was
another itch developing at the back of his head. The sun burned down hotter
and hotter. The packhorse was still standing near the corral fence, his head
getting lower and lower. Maybe the night would bring the animal some relief,
Longarm thought. Maybe it would bring him some relief. One of them damn sure
needed some.

Longarm could feel his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. He
wasn't even sure he could open his lips without pulling skin loose. He was
also beginning to wonder how much longer he could last. When he'd chosen the
safest and most comfortable position, it had seemed fairly restful. He had
his whole body, down to his boots, pressed up against the front slant of the
wash, with just his head and neck turned back to the left to watch the cabin.
As the minutes passed, another muscle in his body began to cry out for relief.
Pretty soon he'd be so sore and stove up that Shaw could just walk out and
beat him to death with the end of a rope. He'd known, when he'd put the plan
in action, that it was going to be a waiting game of long duration, but now he
wasn't sure if it was worth the risk. He hadn't had a sip of water in well
over two hours, and he knew he was getting badly dehydrated. The only way to
use what little water he had was to space it carefully over the time he'd
calculated he was going to have to wait. To go too long without water was as
foolish as drinking it all at once.

Shaw said, "Now look what you gone and made me do, Custis. Waste
ammunition. You know a man in my position ain't supposed to be doing that. I
got plenty, but you can't never have too much. Why don't you quit playin'
possum and let's have a little talk. Tell you what. I got a two-gallon
canvas bag of water here I'll sling over to you if you'll ask for it. All you
got to do is ask and it's yours. Now, what do you say? You know I'd keep my
word on something like this, Custis.

Me and you was good friends a long time. I wouldn't treat you like that
worthless trash I have to use to get my living." He paused. "Say something',
Custis, an' I swear I'll sling you this bag of water."

Longarm lay still and gritted his teeth. Shaw had to be curious. He
wouldn't be human if there wasn't some hope in his mind that he had hit
Longarm, hit him and killed him. Shaw had suggested the whole business about
the cigar with the idea in mind of getting Longarm to expose himself with the
smoke. A man of Jack Shaw's vanity would almost have to believe he was right.
At least that was the way Longarm had it reasoned out. Now all he needed was
for Shaw to act like he was supposed to. If Longarm couldn't believe in the
success of his own scheme, what could he believe in?

Shaw said, "Custis, if you don't show yourself I'm gonna go on out back,
get me a horse, and ride for the border. I know you ain't got nothing wrong
with you except you eat too much hair pie. Now sing out 'fore I ride off
taking all the horses and leave you to bleach in the sun."

Longarm was not at all worried about that threat. Before Shaw would put
himself on a horse on the open prairie, he'd make sure Longarm was either dead
or unable to use a rifle.

It grew quiet again. Longarm now had cramps in three muscles and at
least four distinct itches. His mouth was so dry he could almost feel his
tongue swelling to fill up the whole cavity. He wondered if he dared move
enough to sneak a sip out of his canteen. The thought of the water in his
mouth was like a torment, a temptation he wasn't sure he could resist much
longer.

Then, just as he was about to give up, he caught a slight movement at the
far corner, the furthest front corner of the cabin to his left. It wasn't
much, just a flash of motion at the corner down near the ground.

Longarm figured Shaw had taken a very quick peek to see how much distance
he'd have to cover to get close enough to the wash to look down and discover
what condition Longarm was in.

After that nothing happened for a few moments. Longarm kept his eye
riveted on the corner. When it seemed he could stare at the corner no longer,
he saw Jack Shaw take a cautious step out into the open. He was holding a
rifle with both hands, but he had a revolver shoved into his belt. He was
perhaps fifty to sixty yards away.

As Longarm watched and held his breath, Shaw took a step. Then he
stopped and glanced back as if to reassure himself that cover was near.

He took another step toward the wash, and then another. His line of
approach was taking him at an angle from the corner, an oblique approach
pointed straight toward where Longarm lay watching.

Shaw took two more steps and then stopped. He put the rifle to his
shoulder, sighted down its length, and swept the muzzle up and down the length
of the wash. Longarm was becoming uncomfortably aware of how close Shaw was
getting. In a few more steps he'd be able to see into the wash.

Shaw lowered the rifle and took two more steps. Longarm calculated he
was no more than thirty to forty yards away. The land Shaw was standing on
was slightly higher than the land around the wash. It gave him an advantage.

Longarm steeled himself, willing his muscles to be ready to spring into
action. He knew he would have to use the carbine. It was far too long a shot
for his revolver, especially since it was the one with the short barrel. Shaw
started to take another step and Longarm knew it was time. In as fluid a
motion as he could make, he rose from the wash, going to one knee, bringing up
his rifle, and cocking it as he did. He had been afraid to cock it before for
fear that the noise would alert Shaw. It seemed to take him forever to swing
the rifle up to his shoulder.

Shaw's face briefly registered surprise and then an instant of confusion.
But that passed quickly. It was clear he didn't have time to get his own
rifle in firing position. In a single move he whirled and began running for
the safety of the corner of the rock shack. He'd been twenty yards away from
the cabin when Longarm had suddenly risen up out of the wash. By the time
Longarm got the rifle to his shoulder and cocked it Shaw was within twenty
feet.

Slowly Longarm tracked the fleeing figure with the muzzle of his rifle.
Slowly his rear sight and front sight lined up. They were aimed directly at
the small of Shaw's back. It was the biggest target because Shaw was running
hunched over.

When Shaw was within eight to ten feet of the corner of the shack,
Longarm slowly squeezed the trigger.

There was a faint click. There was no explosion, there was no gunshot,
there was no bullet whizzing through the air to strike Jack Shaw in the small
of the back and knock him flat.

Longarm did not know what had happened, but he dropped instantly back
into the ditch. He worked the hammer of the carbine back and forth near his
ear. He could hear the sound of grit. He ejected a shell, catching it in the
palm of his hand, and looked at the end where the firing cap was. There was a
very faint indentation on the edge of the rim-fired shell. He cursed silently
and long to himself. Grit and dirt had gotten into the working parts of his
rifle, enough to slow the hammer down so that it didn't strike the cartridge
cap with enough force to explode the cartridge. He felt stunned, heartsick.
He said softly, "Son of a bitch." He knew he'd never get a better chance.
All that effort, all that discomfort, all that patience, all for nothing.

From back inside the cabin Shaw said, with a laugh in his voice, "You got
to load them things, Custis, else they don't work worth a damn."

Longarm levered all six shells out, working to free the hammer and firing
pin. As best he could he blew into the mechanism, hoping he had cleared it
out enough that it would work. It had been just the worst kind of luck--there
was no other name for it. Longarm had dragged rifles through the dirt for a
hundred yards and they'd never misfired. Until now. He rolled back over
against the face of the wash and began reloading his rifle. He said, "Naw,
Jack, it was loaded. Must have been some dust or dirt got in the firing
mechanism.

"That will happen to you in the desert. Course I'm kind of glad it did.
You had me cold."

"Yeah, I shore thought so."

"Got to give you credit, Custis. You suckered me on that one. I'm a
lucky duck to be all in one piece. Don't believe I'll be trying any such
tricks on you again anyways soon."

Staying as low as he could, Longarm reached over and got the stump of the
cigar. It had gone out. He had no plans to relight it, but he carefully put
it back in his shirt. He said, "Well, Jack, you'll be glad to know that
little stunt cost me half a cigar. I reckon that will go on your bill."

"Be glad to pay it, Custis. Why don't you step on up to the pay window
right now."

Longarm had carefully loaded his rifle so that the shell that had not
fired was in the chamber. He carefully worked the hammer back, dulling the
clitch-clatch sound it made as he cocked it slowly. When the rifle was ready
to fire he took a cautious look over the edge of his hole.

There was no sign of Jack Shaw. Longarm would have liked to have had at
least a boot toe to shoot at, but there was nothing. Next he glanced toward
the packhorse. To his amazement the horse had somehow stretched his neck over
the fence, bending the top board of the corral as he did, until he had managed
to get his muzzle into the huge barrel that caught the water pumped up by the
windmill. Apparently the few light breezes that had sprung up had been
sufficient to fill the barrel to the brim so that the packhorse was able to
just reach some moisture with his lips and suck it down. Longarm envied him.
He took another careful swig out of his own canteen, being judicious and
stingy with himself. The night might not be so bad, but the next day, he
knew, was going to be hell.

Glad now that he didn't feel the need to kill the packhorse, he readied
himself to test his rifle. He was able to draw his legs up without exposing
himself so that he could come to his knees quickly. He took one more peek to
make sure his enemy was not visible, and then came up swiftly and fired at the
window. The hammer fell, the firing pin worked, and the bullet exploded. He
was already facedown back in the wash as he heard the bullet go into the cabin
and the whine and sing as it ricocheted around the inside walls of the rock
shack.

He heard Shaw let loose with a volley of oaths. It didn't last long.

Finally Shaw said, "What the hell you reckon you be doing?"

"Hell, Jack, I had to test my rifle, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but you didn't need to shoot in here. One of them goddamn rock
splinters hit me in the ear and cut it. Dammit, you've drawed my blood."

"They say a good bleeding clears a man's system out, Jack."

"Yeah, well, I can do without no such foolishness. Hell, if you was
going to waste a shell, how come you didn't shoot that damn packhorse you was
so worried about?"

"Now, Jack, you know that would have caused me to expose myself while I
took careful aim. If you'd seen me like that, I reckon there would have been
more than the horse got taken down."

The sun was starting to flatten itself on the horizon. It would be dark
soon, but it was no less hot for all of that. Longarm knew, of course, that
sometime after midnight it would commence to get cold, and not just cold but
freezing. That was the damned high prairie for you.

Roast in the daytime and freeze at night. Shaw said, "Be dark pretty
soon."

"Yeah."

"I reckon to give you a little trouble tonight, Longarm."

"Aw, yeah, how's that?"

"Nothing you can't handle. Man like you."

"Well, what is it?"

"You're a gambling man. At least you were. You still of the same bent?"

"I still play at cards now and then if the stakes ain't too high."

"Stakes gonna be mighty high this time, Custis, mighty high."

"Tell me about it. I ain't got nothing else to occupy my mind."

Chapter 3

"Well," Shaw said, "it's a pretty simple little game. Sometime before
dawn I'm going to open the corral gate. You can't see that from where you
are. And some of these horses are going to get out. I'll make sure you hear
that. Now the game for you is going to be to decide if I'm on one of them
horses, riding off and making my escape, or not.

Maybe I'm just running the horses out of the corral and then waiting for
you to jump out of your hidey-hole and run toward the back to see if that is
me waving adios to you. See the game?"

Longarm thought about it. It had actually been worrying him most of the
day. He had wished his position had been much more to the side of the cabin
so that he could see all of the corral. As it was, he figured he only had a
view of not quite half, and the gate was obviously on the other side. All
that day he had subconsciously studied the terrain, looking for someplace he
could run to that would give him protection where he could see the side of the
house and the corral. But the land had been flat as a griddle cake, with not
even a semblance of a place to hole up. His only chance had been to shoot the
packhorse, but the animal had not stayed in the proper position long enough.
The horse he'd ridden in on was too far back, and would have afforded him no
better view than he had. Shaw was right. It was a very chancy proposition.
If he thought Shaw was making a break and left cover to stop him, Shaw could
be still in the cabin with a rifle trained his way. And of course, the other
side of that coin was that Shaw might really be riding off. If he did,
Longarm would have no way to catch him. He'd make the border easily. Longarm
was glad now that he hadn't mentioned anything about wiring the Arizona
Rangers to Shaw.

Longarm said, "You ain't going to open that gate and let your horses out,
Jack. You'd be crazy."

Shaw let out a whoop of laughter. "Longarm, I thought you knew a little
something about cayuses. How far you reckon these old ponies are going to go
away from this water? Hell, I'll probably have trouble keeping them out long
enough to fool you."

He was right, Longarm thought. Shaw could drive the horses out of the
corral, but they wouldn't stay out long. He said, "You got a point, Jack.
But that old knife cuts two ways. If I tell you right now I'm going to take
the bait, you ain't going to know whether to believe me or not. So that means
you won't try to break out tonight. And if I'm convinced of that, then I
won't show myself. But if you are of a mind to try it, it might be you
chewing up some of this prairie. Might be a gamble either way you look at
it."

Shaw laughed softly. "Got to hand it to you, Custis, you still play a
hell of a hand of poker."

All of a sudden it was night. For just a little while it was dark, and
then the biggest, roundest, most golden, brightest moon Longarm had ever seen
filled the sky and threw light and shadows everywhere. You really didn't see
it back in the valleys and draws of the mountains, not even when you were
topping out on the terrain, because there was no flat horizon to judge it by.
It was awesome. Longarm said, "See what you mean about the moon, Jack.
Unfortunately, I ain't got no paper to read."
Shaw said, "You probably got a better view of it. I'm fumbling around in
the dark here trying to make my supper. All I got is dried beef and biscuits
and cheese and canned peaches. I don't reckon you're hungry, though."

"I ate earlier," Longarm said. "Say, I still don't understand why you
felt it was necessary to go through three batches o mountains. You switched
your trail enough almost made me dizzy. You'd have been a lot better off,
once you come out of the Mescals, making straight for the border. Instead you
wasted four days rummaging around in that rough country."

Shaw chuckled. "Well, I tell you, Longarm. It's considerably easier to
get rid of folks you don't want tagging along in tangled country. You can't
do 'em in quite as easy out in the open, if you get my drift."

Longarm shook his head. "I ain't never goin' to understand how them boys
let you knock 'em off one at a time. Was they that dumb or that easy?"

"Greed, Longarm. Plain old simple greed. Most of 'em knew I was picking
off the weak ones, except for the first two they thought was brought down by
fire from the train. But the rest of 'em, each one of 'em, thought they was
gonna be the one I'd share the proceeds with.

Remember them last two? Looks like I shot both of them, don't it?"

"Yeah, shore as hell does."

"Wasn't the way it was. I told each of 'em to kill the other. One shot
the other in the back and I done him the same favor. Greed, Custis, plain ol'
greed."

"Well, what I don't understand, Jack, is how come you didn't want to
share none of it. Did you get so much you figured it was one big score and
you was through? Or was it so little wasn't enough to go around?"

"You don't know the amount of the proceeds?"

"Naw. That was Indian Affairs money you got. Money was meant for the
reservation people to buy supplies and whatnot. The folks on the train didn't
have no idea how much money was in them sealed sacks.

Jack Shaw said, "Now you starting to get some idea about why I feel like
the loot by rights belongs to me. All them men figured it was going to be
share and share alike. But wasn't a man among 'em knew about that money being
shipped to the Bureau of Indian Affairs out of Phoenix to Globe. Wasn't a one
of them knew what train it was gonna be on. Wasn't a one of them knew within
a thousand guesses how much money it was. And wasn't a one of them spent a
week riding that track to figure out the best place to take the train and then
another week riding the countryside to figure out the best escape route."

"And they seen it as an eight-way split?"

"Damn shore did. Was the only way they'd sign on. Hell!" Shaw made a
disgusted sound. "Can you blame me? Hell, ever'body wants something for
nothing these days. Man don't want to work for what he gets. I spent nine
hard, dangerous years learning the law from the other side of the badge before
I went the other way with that robbery in Del Rio. I earned my wages. But
these punks these days, hell, they don't want to learn. They damn shore don't
want to work. But they want a share. Oh, yeah, they expect theyselves a
share. Well, I give 'em their share all right."

"You still ain't told me what amount of proceeds you got."

Shaw laughed, a short brittle sound. "I reckon I'll let you find out
that for yourself. I will say I didn't get as much as the Indian Bureau will
say they lost."

Longarm was quiet for a moment, thinking about it. Then he said, "Your
inside man take his cut out first? Before he shipped the money?"
Shaw didn't answer the question. Instead he said, "Now, we might talk
about giving you a share, Custis. I know you probably won't take it, but I'm
willing to leave five thousand-no, make that ten thousand-outside the front
door in return for you taking a nap for about two hours."

Longarm brought his carbine closer to hand and said, "Go ahead, set it on
out there. Just outside the door."

Shaw laughed his brittle laugh again. "Now, Custis, ain't no use in
getting your feelings hurt. Hell! I had to make the offer. I shove any
money out there it will be with a broom handle. Now if I've made you mad with
my little proposition, then I apologize. I didn't mean nothing personal by
it, and I don't see no point in me and you making anything personal about this
situation. We are both professionals and I'm willing to act like it."

"You still ain't told me why the Indian Affairs Bureau is going to report
more of a loss than you took."
Longarm could hear Shaw sigh. Then the outlaw said, "Well, just figure
they don't count so good and leave it at that. I don't know what you mean by
me having an inside man. I just overheard a conversation in Phoenix, that's
all."

"Nevertheless," Longarm said, "when this is over, I think I'll have me a
look inside that Bureau in Phoenix. See if they is anybody there with a
connection to YOU."
Shaw said, his voice cool, but with a hardness in it Longarm had not
heard before, "What makes you think you'll be getting out of this in the kind
of shape where you'll be asking anybody anything?"

"Well, let's just say I'm hoping. How does that sound, Jack? Ain't that
what you're doing?"

"I don't see why we can't make some kind of deal, Custis. I got the best
of it right now. Even you got to admit that. But I'm still willing to talk
about a deal. If you think today has been hard on you, why, you wait until
tomorrow is good and settled in. You are fixing to find out how bacon feels
when it's frying."
Longarm said dryly, "This ain't my first county fair, Jack. Why don't
you save that kind of hominy grits talk for them as will buy it. You might
get in short supply you waste it on me."

"Ain't no use gettin' testy, Custis. Gonna be a long enough night as
is."

"Thought you was leavin'."

Shaw chuckled. "I'll let you get in a nap first. I know you got to be
mighty tired for a man of your age. What are you anyway, Custis, 'bout
forty?"

"Not for ten years yet. Question is, will you git to be forty?"

"You ain't much older than me and I just barely turned thirty-five."

"Come on out here and I'll whisper it in your ear."

"Fact of the business is, Custis, I don't really care a damn. Not that
much anyway. Just being sociable. But I reckon I better quieten down now so
you can get a little sleep."

The moon was well up. It was amazing to Longarm how light it was. It
was, of course, a different kind of light from the sun. The shadows looked
odd, misshapen and distorted, and the colors of things were all wrong. What
was brown, like the shack, looked reddish, and the whitish parts of the
prairie seemed to almost glow and shimmer. A faint breeze had come up, and
Longarm could hear the rusty windmill blades creaking around. Looking to his
right, he could see the packhorse with his neck stretched out, his head
reaching, his lips sucking as he kept taking in water.

It was cooler now, but not all that much. Longarm calculated that it was
somewhere between eight and nine o'clock, but he had no real way of knowing.
He halfway wished that Jack Shaw had not stopped talking.

Now that matters had settled down, he could feel just how tired he was.
His body ached and cried out for rest; not just being stationary, but real
rest, sleep rest, relaxed rest. He was lying down, but he wasn't resting.
His whole body was tensed, alert for any sign of action from the cabin. He
shook his head and blinked his eyes several times. He could tell that it was
going to be a long night. He looked to the right and wished reverently he had
a position just twenty or thirty yards in that direction. It would make the
job that much simpler. As it was, he couldn't say what he'd do if he heard
Shaw's horses coming out of the corral. It would be a fifty-fifty risk. If
he was right, he would shoot Shaw. If he was wrong, Shaw would shoot him. He
stifled a yawn and glanced up at the moon. A few small clouds were passing
across its face, and it was odd to see them reflected on the ground, dark
patches moving blackly across the white and tan prairie. They looked like
moving pools of water. He shook his head again and blinked hard. His canteen
was at hand, and he picked it up and hefted it. There was no more than a
quart left. He reckoned it would see him through the next day, but not by
much. Tomorrow would be the day to start threatening Shaw with the Arizona
Rangers. If he'd done it too soon it would have made Shaw that much more
dangerous, and the man was too mean and too ingenious and too cunning to be
pushed into a corner. For the time being let Shaw think that Longarm was all
he had to worry about. So long as he thought that was the case, he'd be
content to wait Longarm out, sure in the knowledge that the sun would do his
work for him.

Longarm yawned and began to cast about frantically in his mind for
something to think about that would keep him awake. Molly Dowd came floating
toward him like the best dream he'd ever had.

Molly Dowd was the widow of a deputy marshal who had been one of
Longarm's best friends, Tom Dowd. When Tom had been killed in a battle with
road agents, Longarm had gone to the funeral, and then had stayed on to see
what he could do for Molly. She had decided to remain in the same house that
she and Tom had lived in, in a town in north Texas, Wichita Falls, just below
the Oklahoma Territory, which had been Tom's major responsibility.

One day, a year after Tom's death, a letter came to Longarm from Molly,
inviting him to look in on her whenever he was close by. He thought of it as
no more than a friendly invitation from a woman who maybe needed a little
cheering up and maybe a shoulder to cry on. But he still had a premonition,
and he lost as little time as possible finding an excuse to be in Molly's neck
of the woods. Molly had a sensuality about her that Longarm had felt even
when Tom was alive. He'd been ashamed of himself for that. He didn't believe
in coveting a friend's wife or woman, but it was hard not to covet, or at
least lust after, a woman like Molly. But he had never, to the best of his
recollection, ever given her, by sign or word, any idea of how desirable he
found her.

It was not that she was all that good-looking, though she was by no means
plain. And she wasn't a girl. Longarm figured she would have been at least
thirty at the time of Tom's death. Nor did she have a perfect figure. It was
just that she had some indefinable something that made men act like they were
on the prod the instant they got around her.

Within two weeks after he received the letter he managed to arrange his
business so that he was in Wichita Falls at the little house on the outskirts
of town where Molly still lived. She received him at the front door with a
strange formality, not the hug he normally got. She was wearin a kind of
wraparound housedress, the kind with thin material that went around the body
once and then was tied with a sash. He could tell, from the way it fit her
curves, that she wasn't wearing anything underneath. She got him seated and
gave him a drink of whiskey, and then sat across from him, drawing up one leg
underneath her. She was barefoot and her hair was brushed and combed, but it
fell down around her shoulders. His breath was already coming quicker as he
could see her breast clearly outlined in the bosom of her dress, and a glimpse
of white, inner thigh as she had her leg tucked up underneath her. She asked,
simply and quickly, if he would help her. She said, "It's been over a year
since Tom, Custis. A year, and I've respected his memory. But I need a man.
Tom would understand. And you were always his best friend. Will you help
me?"

Almost in a daze he nodded and finished his drink. She came over, took
him by the hand, and led him back to the bedroom. She stood before him as he
undressed. Then she asked him to just lie on his back. He did, watching as
she untied the sash of her dress and let it fall open. For a second she let
it hang from her shoulders, let it frame her beautifully abundant breasts with
their big, brown nipples, let it frame her wide, white hips and the little
mound of her belly, let it frame her wonderfully shapely legs that seemed to
grow out of the brown spreading triangle of hair that began at the V and made
a tangled web as it moved up her soft skin. Then she let the dress drop to
the floor, moved to the bed, and sat down beside him, staring down gravely at
his body. She said softly, "I'd almost forgotten. It's been so long." She
reached out with one delicate, soft hand and took his member, already engorged
and rigid. Gently she massaged it, moving it back and forth. He gasped with
each measure of her touch. She said gently, "Does that feel good? Do you
like that?"

He had to gasp, "Careful, Molly. Go slow, sweetheart."

He was so close he couldn't look at her. If he looked at the soft
breasts hanging over him, or down at the auburn thatch, he would explode. It
felt as if his testicles were drawn so tight against his body they were about
to disappear.

She began to kiss him on his body, slowly working her way down. He
moaned and writhed, trying to contain himself. Finally he raised up and
pulled her to him, burying her mouth in his, kissing her until he could feel
her begin to melt. Then he draped her backwards on the bed, threw her legs
over his shoulders, and slipped his tongue and his face into the opening,
warming, dampening nest between her legs. He could hear her panting, feel her
writhing, as he held her balanced by the buttocks in the palms of his hand.
She was beginning to cry out as he pulled back and then thrust himself into
her, her legs still above his shoulders, now wrapped around his neck. He had
brought her so close with his tongue and with his kisses that she climaxed
almost at once, thrusting up strongly against him, digging at his back with
her fingers, her breath loud in his ear, her breath turning to a low moan.
And then, as he exploded, all sound ceased except the pounding in his head.
It seemed to go on forever as he'd pumped into her, the pound turning into a
boom, boom, boom, boom, boom. And then it stopped and he almost slid off her,
his eyes closed in exhaustion. She cradled his head in her arms, holding him
close and kissing his eyes and his ears and his cheek, whatever she could
reach. She said softly, "Wonderful, wonderful. Thank you, thank you."

Gradually their breathing slowed, and then they rested for a time. He slid
off her and turned over on his back, his eyes closed. After a time he felt
her move, and then felt the gentle touch of her lips and her tongue on his
belly. Almost instantly his desire began to quicken. She worked her way down
his abdomen very slowly, so slowly that he almost wanted to scream out in
agony. Then she took him in her mouth, her tongue working in harmony with her
lips. It caused him to gasp and arch his back until nothing but his heels and
the top of his head were touching the bed. She continued, working slowly,
moistly, bringing him up and up and up. When he thought he could stand it no
longer, she slipped away from his member and deftly took one of his testicles
into her mouth. She caressed it gently with her tongue and then swiftly moved
up, mounting him, straddling him, taking him inside herself. She leaned down
to his face. He was panting, gasping. She said lovingly, "Don't wait, honey.
Go ahead."

The boom seemed just as big, though it didn't last quite as long.

After the fires died, she slipped down beside him and held him in her
arms for a long time. He contented himself with running his hand up and down
her soft skin, sometimes exploring the still-warm, very wet tender flesh that
the silken hairs protected. He turned once, and she slipped the nipple of her
breast into his mouth and then cuddled him to her. She was so soft, so warm.

Later she got up and, with dark coming fast, cooked them both a steak
along with some fried eggs. He slipped on his jeans, not bothering with
anything else, and she wore the wrap-around housedress with the sash loose.
They didn't talk while they ate. When they were finished, he had a few drinks
of whiskey while she washed the dishes, and then, without a word being spoken,
they went back into the bedroom. They made slow, careful love for a long
time. He was as tender and caring as he knew how, working her gently,
bringing her up and then letting her ease back down before he brought her up
again higher. When he finally entered her and brought her all the way up, she
was already trembling and heaving and gasping. Her climax was so strong that
the headboard of the bed banged into the wall and broke half loose from the
frame. He looked down at her in wonder as she finally relaxed, bathed in
sweat, her pink mouth half open and gasping for air.

He left her the next morning. His last memory was of her kneeling on the
bed naked, putting up her mouth to be kissed and then cupping her breasts in
her hands and holding them up for his lips. He was reluctant to leave, both
because she would again be alone, and because he would be too. He went back
many times, but he was never going to forget that first time.

He asked her to marry him many times, but she always smiled and shook her
head no. She said she could never again marry a lawman. "Chances are too
good I'd lose you," she said. "I couldn't take it again."

He suddenly came to himself, conscious that a lot of time had passed.

He'd been so deep in his memory of Molly that anything could have
happened. He glanced up at the moon. It was almost dead overhead, a sure
sign that more than an hour or two had passed. He'd been wide awake, staring
at the cabin, his eyes occasionally roving over toward the part of the corral
that he could see, but he had no memory of anything transpiring during that
time. For all he knew, Jack Shaw had made a getaway out the back of the cabin
and was five miles away. It was amazing. Longarm had thought of Molly to
keep himself awake, and he'd ended up taking a two-hour sleep with his eyes
wide open.

He looked carefully from one side of the cabin to the other. Nothing was
stirring. Next he looked toward the corral. Besides the packhorse, he could
see the whole of one horse and part of another inside the corral. That didn't
mean anything. Jack Shaw could have ridden out on one horse, leading another,
and left the balance to keep Longarm none the wiser. He glanced back toward
the packhorse, trying to see what he was doing. The horse had his head all
the way to the ground as if he were grazing, but the only thing around the
corral to graze on was sand and rocks. Yet the packhorse kept on as if he had
found something to eat. He'd raise his head every few moments and then stand
there as if he were chewing. The distance was too far and the light not good
enough for Longarm to see if he was or wasn't chewing, but the animal still
kept dipping his head down like a horse eating and then raising it back up
like a horse chewing. It didn't make a damn bit of sense, but Longarm wasn't
going to learn any more by staring into the night. The main problem at hand
right then and there was Jack Shaw. Longarm thought of calling out, but it
would be just like Shaw to keep still and play possum. Longarm knew that he
would do the same if the situation were reversed.

He gazed at the cabin, calculating the distance. It was, he reckoned,
about sixty to seventy yards away. A pretty good distance. He took a shell
out of his pocket and hefted it. It wasn't quite heavy enough for his
purposes, and besides, he needed every shell he had. He put the shell back in
his shirt pocket, buttoned the flap, and then began feeling around in the
bottom of the wash for rocks or anything he could throw. His hand finally
came across a dried clod about the size of his fist or a little smaller. He
kept on searching until he'd found another one and a rock about the same size.

As carefully as he could he worked himself around, without raising above
the level of the wash, to where he had his legs under him. He peered at the
cabin for a long second and then, half rising, drew back his arm and threw the
larger of the clods in a high arc toward the cabin roof. To his great
surprise he threw it across the angle of the roof so that it landed on the
prairie at the left side of the cabin.

He hadn't known he could throw so far. With the second clod he stayed
more down in the ditch, exposing less of himself. He threw and ducked down,
watching as the clod arced across the light sky and landed on the tin roof
with a satisfying metallic clatter. The sound of the clod was, very shortly,
followed by the sound of three gunshots, the shells making a clatter as they
ripped through the tin roof. To Longarm's ear it was a revolver. A handgun
made a much shorter report than a rifle.

Besides, neither Shaw nor anyone else could fire a rifle that fast.

Well, he thought, at least he knew where Jack Shaw was. He called out,
"Sorry to wake you up, Jack. Thought you'd be gone by now."

Shaw sounded angry. "Longarm, you sonofabitch, that wasn't a damn bit
funny. Sounded like the damn roof was falling in. I nearly shot myself in
the foot getting at my handgun."

"So you was sleeping, was you?"

"Hell, no. I was thinkin' was all."

"Jack, you dozed off. Ain't no crime in admitting the truth."

"I didn't do no such thing. How would you know?"

"Because you fired so fast. You fired like a man was startled awake. If
you'd really been awake, you wouldn't have fired at the first sound. You'd of
waited to see if it was me or just what. You wouldn't of committed yourself
so damn quick."

"Aw, go to hell, Longarm. You ain't so damn smart."

Longarm laughed. His quarry was still at hand. Well, he thought, he'd
managed several things in the last little while. He'd killed a pretty good
piece of time, he'd startled Jack Shaw, and he'd developed a powerful,
powerful longing for Molly Dowd. It had gotten very cool, but he wiped his
brow and was surprised to find it was covered with a light sheen of sweat. He
resolved not to let himself start thinking again about Molly until he was
within at least an hour's travel of Wichita Falls.

Shaw called out. "You ain't so very damn smart, Longarm, as you think.
I got way the best of it. I can sleep if I want to because you can't take the
chance of exposing yourself to find out if I'm awake or not. Maybe next time
you chunk a rock on the roof, I'll do a little possum-playing my own self. I
got time on my side, Custis. And don't you forget it. Gonna be dawn in a few
hours, and back will come that old sun. I'm fine here in the shade of this
cabin. I ain't got to make a break for it. I don't have to take a single
chance. The situation will do you in. All you got is a hole wouldn't hide a
lizard, a piece of a half-gallon canteen, damn little ammunition, and that sun
on your head. Hell, you can't even wear your hat. All I got to do is sit
here until your tongue swells up and you go out of your mind with the heat.
Then I can go on my way without a care in the world. So don't sound so damn
cocky, Longarm. Looks to me like you are the one in the mess."

Longarm thought that that was a fair assessment of the situation. With
the exception of the Arizona Rangers. They'd arrive sooner or later.

They would come. They couldn't help but follow all of the sign he'd
left. Every one of them was a capable tracker in his own right. With him
pointing the way they'd make it. The only question was time. He said aloud,
"Why can't we figure us out a deal, Jack? Looks like two old friends like us
could scheme us a way out of this mess. I got to admit I ain't looking
forward to tomorrow. I imagine it will seem like it's forty hours long."

"Of course they's a way out, Custis. You stand up, drop all your
firearms, and walk on up here to the cabin. I'll give you a drink of whiskey
and something to eat and all the water you want. Got plenty of cool, cool
water. That old windmill keeps on spitting it out. Fill your belly with it.
I imagine that stuff in your canteen is hotter than my first pistol. Probably
tastes of alkali. This here is deep well water. Cool as saloon beer."
Longarm said, "Much obliged, Jack, but I reckon not. Fact is, I been
drinking too much water lately. Getting a right bad rust problem according to
the doctor."

"Just thought I'd offer."

"One thing I am curious about, Jack," Longarm said, "is how much you got
off that robbery. Reason I ask is, I'm wondering if you got enough to maybe
retire. The rate you are going through partners, you might have trouble
getting a bunch together next time."

Shaw laughed. "Not to worry your old gray head, Custis. I don't reckon
I could stand to retire. I'd miss it. I'd miss times like these. Hadn't
been for that train robbery, Lord knows when we'd of had this chance to talk.
I recollect the last time we visited was down in Mexico, in Durango. You
remember that, Custis?"

Longarm smiled grimly. It was an occasion he was not likely to forget.
Having a few days off and wanting to sample the wares down south of the Rio
Grande, he'd crossed over the border, taken a train, and ended up in the
silver-mining town of Durango, which had everything he was looking for in the
way of drinking and gambling and women. Every once in a while he liked to get
completely loose, and it was a well-honored custom among many federal law
officers that they took their business out of the country. The first man he'd
run into when he'd walked into a cantina had been Jack Shaw. There had been a
dozen warrants out for Shaw, and Longarm had wrestled with his conscience for
three days about abducting Shaw illegally and taking him back to the States to
stand trial. In the end his legal conscience had won out over his moral and
expedient conscience, but he still didn't know if he'd done the right thing.
If he'd hauled Shaw back then and there two years ago, there would have been
quite a number of people still alive and quite a bit of money still in the
possession of its rightful owners. Now Longarm said, "Yeah, I remember, Jack.
We butted heads in quite a few hands of poker."

Shaw laughed. "We butted heads on more than that, Longarm. I could see
you just itching to board me on a train at the point of a gun and take me back
to the nearest border town. I had a bet with two or three hombres that were
with me on just that particular score."

"How'd you bet?"

Shaw laughed again. "I bet you wouldn't do it. I bet your conscience
wouldn't let you. They thought I was crazy. But I wasn't, was I?"
Longarm said carefully, "How do you know I didn't take note that you had
help at hand and know that I couldn't get away with it? How do you know it
wasn't that and not conscience?"

"Because I know you, Custis. It ain't your style. If I'd been a foot
inside the U.S. border, you'd of tried to take me no matter how much help I
had. Or if you'd had any kind of extradition warrant you'd have tried. But
you was on leave. Down there to drink and gamble and wench around. I just
come as a hell of a big surprise. And a not-too-welcome one at that. I could
see it was troubling you, Custis. Throwed you off your poker game. I believe
I won a couple of hundred off you, if I remember correctly."

"Closer to a hundred," Longarm said. "I was keeping count. I was
telling myself I'd have you in a jail someday and I planned to win it back."

"I guess that's what you are thinking about right now, ain't it,
Longarm?"

"I'm thinking it is getting damn cold. I got to shut up. Inside of my
mouth is near to freezing."

He didn't know how cold it was, but he reflected that no one was likely
to mistake it for a mild night. It always amazed him how the high prairies
could go from blazing during summer days to near-freezing at night. All he
was wearing was a long-sleeved cotton shirt and denim jeans. He had a jacket
and a slicker on his dead horse, but they weren't much good at such a
distance. All he could do was hug the dry, rocky dirt and endure, just as
he'd endured the blistering sun of the day before. It was part of the job,
and would draw high gales of laughter if you put it in your report.

He watched the moon in its slow march across the sky. Soon it would go
down, though it set late in such high climes, and then would come a period of
darkness that would last a short time until the sun rose. At some times
during the summer months, the sun and the moon would almost meet in their
ascent and descent. Now and again small cloud masses passed across the sky,
making the shadows blink and flutter like the light from a flickering candle.

Sometime later, with dawn not too far away, Longarm became aware of the
packhorse again. The horse had backed a little ways from the corral fence and
seemed to be having some kind of trouble. Longarm couldn't see him too well
because he was in the small shadow cast by the windmill. But he could hear
the horse making some kind of gasping and honking noises. If Longarm hadn't
known better, he'd have sworn the horse was a mule from the strange noises he
was making. As he watched, the horse began to stagger. First he staggered
backwards a few yards, and then turned and went sideways. He had his head
down, his muzzle almost to the ground. Longarm could see he was very weak in
the hind legs, and could not imagine what had come over the horse. He was
acting like he was foundering, but all he'd had, so far as Longarm knew, was
water, and he'd never seen a horse founder on water. It had been a good
twenty hours since the horse had eaten, and there was certainly nothing around
the cabin for him to have overfilled himself on.

He heard the horse make the gasping sound again. At the very end it
turned into a kind of gurgle. The horse was walking straight toward Longarm,
though he was still fifty or sixty yards away. Longarm could tell the horse
was in obvious distress of some kind, but he couldn't tell what. He hated to
risk a shot in the bad light, but it was hurting him to see the horse in such
a condition.

Finally the horse stopped. He raised his head and gasped, and then
seemed to turn around and around like a dog chasing his tail. Finally he gave
a kind of buck and then a jump. His hind legs collapsed and he fell heavily
to the hard ground on his side. Longarm could tell he'd fallen on the side
that had been carrying the empty water tin because, in the still, thin air, he
could hear the metal grinding as it collapsed under the weight of the horse.
The horse made one effort to heave itself back to its feet, then flopped back
down. Longarm saw it give one final quiver. After that it lay still.

Longarm stared at the horse. Its head was pointing toward him in his
ditch and its tail was toward the corral. The horse lay, Longarm judged,
about forty or fifty yards from the west side of the cabin. There was no
window on that side of the cabin. He knew that from when he had ridden up.
He hadn't seen it, but he doubted there was a window on the east side either.
Line cabins wern't built for comfort and windows cost money. A line cabin
provided the line rider with a place to sleep and keep his belongings out of
the weather. Other than that, the cattleman wanted the rider on about his
business of throwing drifting cattle back up to the north. He didn't get paid
to sit in the cabin and look out windows.

Longarm lay there, staring at the opportunity. If he could get in behind
the horse he would have good cover and a perfect position. From behind the
horse he'd be able to see the front of the cabin and all of the corral. Jack
Shaw would not be able to even think about chancing a stealthy departure.

But could Longarm make it to the horse and shelter in behind it? He
calculated it was a run of close to fifty yards, but there was one advantage.
All he had to do was get past the corner of the house.

After that Jack Shaw wouldn't have a shot at him unless the outlaw cared
to expose himself by leaving the cabin and coming out into the open. Longarm
didn't think that Shaw would want to do that. The lawman lay there, staring,
thinking.

Chapter 4

It was a risk, but then that was why the Marshals Service paid such good
wages. Near as much in a month as he could make in a moderate-stakes game of
poker. He glanced toward the cabin. There was just no way of knowing if Jack
Shaw was alert and on watch. If Longarm decided to make the move he'd have to
take his chances. That was what it came down to. Chances. He calculated the
moon would be down in less than an hour, but he doubted that would make much
difference. In the twenty yards he'd have to run, in high-heeled boots over
sandy, rocky ground, he'd make a shadow against the light sky as clear as a
cut-out cardboard silhouette. If Jack Shaw was on watch, the outlaw would
have time enough to get off a shot, and Longarm doubted if Jack would miss.
The man was a good shot. Longarm had seen evidence of it, and he knew enough
to know that a man in Jack's line of work didn't last very long if he couldn't
make a shot when he had to.

With his eye Longarm judged the distance over and over, looking for
pitfalls in the prairie. It wouldn't be a time for a body to lose his footing
or fall. Stumble and fall on that run and a man would be falling for a long
time. Might as well fall off the highest mountain.

He looked at the moon again. It was partially covered by some
low-hanging clouds just above the horizon. Longarm couldn't tell if it was
any darker. Instead, now that the idea of jumping out into the open was in
his mind, it seemed to have gotten brighter. He looked back in the direction
of the cabin, but there wasn't anything there to see. He glanced at the
horse. He was lying very still. Longarm thought that it would be one hell of
a bad joke if the horse suddenly got to his feet just as he, Longarm, left the
safety of the wash and was about halfway across. Be one hell of a bad joke.
He might die laughing from it.

He lay there, cold, glancing back and forth and weighing the risk. Was
it worth it? Hell, he couldn't be sure. For all he knew the Arizona Rangers
might show up for lunch and he'd have run a hell of a risk for nothing. Or
else it might take them three more days to arrive. Could he hold out for
three more days? He had water for part of one. And what would he do then?

If he got to the commanding position behind the horse, he could make Shaw
understand that he was cut off from escape and then he could tell him about
the Rangers. It would put a whole new complexion on the matter. Shaw might
be willing to strike some kind of deal. Longarm had one in mind, but it
wasn't worth a damn unless he could convince Jack Shaw there was no other way
out.

The moon was about as low as it was going to get before it went down.

Longarm felt around in the dirt until he found the fist-sized rock he'd
had before. He got his hat and the canteen strap in his left hand and had his
carbine ready to his right. Carefully, slowly, he bunched his legs under him.
He'd been lying for so long in one position, he had no idea what kind of
spring might be left in his legs. He might jump to his feet and start to run
and they'd collapse. Well, he needed a second or two of distraction. All he
could do was hope it worked. With his right hand he grasped the rock, and
then half crouched and drew back his right arm. He hurled the rock high in
the sky, arcing it to land on the roof. The instant the rock left his hand he
reached down, grabbed his carbine, and then jumped to his feet, sprang out of
the wash, and started running toward the horse.

It felt like he was running in thigh-high mud. His legs were dead. He
felt as if he was going nowhere. He had traveled perhaps five or six yards,
stumbling and lurching, when he heard the bang! of the rock on top of the
metal roof. For a second his heart almost stopped at the sound, it had
sounded so much like a gunshot. But then his heart got out of his throat and
he kept lumbering toward the horse. The horse came nearer. He was ten yards
away, and then five, and then two, and then Longarm half stumbled, half dove
over the animal's front legs and landed tucked up against the poor creature's
belly. It seemed he was hearing a voice in his ears, but his breath was
coming so hard and fierce that he couldn't hear.

It was a minute or two before he got himself squared around and facing
the cabin. The horse was dead, all right, though as yet Longarm had no idea
what had killed him. He laid his rifle over the side of the animal. It was
the side that had the load of corn, so it was even higher than just the flanks
of the horse would have been. He could hear Jack Shaw shouting.

"Damnit, Longarm! What in hell did you want to go and chunk rocks on top
of this damn cabin for? Hell, what business is it of yours if I'm sleeping or
not! You got you some goddamn nerve, I'll tell you that. You done made me
mad an' I don't like it! Don't do that no more, you sonofabitch, or I'll plow
up that ditch of yours with rifle bullets. I got plenty!"
He said, "Settle down, Jack. Hell, I got bored. Had to do something to
stay awake."

"What's that?" There was a pause. "Say, where in hell are you? Your
voice sounds funny."
Longarm said, "You're hearing things, Jack. Go on back to sleep. I'll
chunk another rock about dawn. Wake you in time for coffee."

"Say, you sonofabitch, you ain't in that ditch no more! Where in hell
are you?"

Longarm looked over at the corral with satisfaction. He could see the
whole pen and every horse. He counted five. He could see the barrel, he
could see the pipe running out of the windmill, and he could even see a little
of the back door. He said, "I don't want to talk no more right now, Jack.
This morning air ain't good for my throat."

Dawn just happened. One second the prairie world was a dingy gray, and
the next it was as alight as if someone had struck a big match in a room full
of mirrors. Just beyond the front of the cabin, Longarm could see the sun
crowding its way over the far horizon. It didn't look nearly as big as the
golden moon the night before, but Longarm knew it packed a hell of a lot more
wallop. While he could, he relished the warming rays as they drove the chill
out of his bones from the cold night. But he knew it was short-lived comfort.
There appeared to be about a solid hour out of the twenty-four when a man
could be somewhere near to comfort in this harsh country. One thing about
such country, he had often reflected, when you found cheap land you didn't
have to wonder what the catch was. It was his personal opinion that they
ought to give the damn stuff away to anyone who was fool enough to live on it
and try and make a living.

He took a swig out of his canteen for breakfast, and then settled down to
be on the alert. There was one large advantage to hunkering in behind the
dead packhorse; he didn't have to lay frozen in one position for fear of
exposing himself. To get a shot at him, Jack Shaw was going to have to sneak
down to one corner or the other of the cabin. If he stayed alert Longarm
would have enough of a warning when Shaw tried to sneak a rifle barrel around
the corner to take good cover. Now, with the sun up good, Longarm stood up
and stretched and worked his arms and legs back and forth, trying to get out
some of the kinks from the long, stationary concealment. As he started to get
back down behind the horse he saw what had killed the animal. The big burlap
bag that had been on the horse's right side, full of corn, had somehow gotten
ripped about halfway down. There had been sixty pounds of corn in the sack,
and Longarm estimated that at least a third of it had spilled out. He glanced
over toward the corral. He could see a jagged crack in one of the boards of
the fence.

The horse, in working and straining his way toward the water barrel, must
have snagged the sack and then ripped it as he'd pulled away.

Looking closely, Longarm could see a little flattened pile of golden
kernels. It was clear that the horse had filled up on water and then
discovered the corn. He had eaten and drunk all night. The corn, being bone
dry, had absorbed the water as fast as the horse could drink, and had swollen
and swollen until the horse had foundered himself. Just looking, Longarm
could see how bloated the horse was.

The barrel of his belly and chest was distended at least two or three
inches. The first time Shaw fired into the animal he was going to deflate
like a full wineskin jabbed with a knife. Longarm shook his head. It was a
hell of a way for the animal to die. As well as Longarm understood it, the
horse's belly had swollen so much it had pushed in on its lungs and the animal
couldn't breathe. He wished now that he had risked a shot the night before.
Maybe he could have spared the poor animal a few moments of agony. He sighed.
Somebody had once said that the West was all right for a particular breed of
men, but it was hell on women and horses.

But at least the animal hadn't died in vain. His death, and the place
he'd chosen to fall, had been a godsend to Longarm. He figured he and Shaw
were now pretty close to being on equal terms. True, Shaw had the shade and
the water and the food, but he wasn't going anywhere. All Longarm had to do
was find a way to hold out until the Rangers came. A thought came to him. He
reached into the burlap bag and came out with a handful of the dried corn. He
tentatively tried a grain in his mouth, working at it with his teeth. In a
moment he gave it up as a bad job and spat out the kernel. But then another
thought came. He unscrewed the cap of his canteen and dropped a dozen of the
kernels inside. They'd soak up some of the water, but maybe, with a little
soaking, they'd be chewable. He was getting a little tired of desert air for
breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Longarm heard Shaw from the front of the cabin. "Longarm, where in hell
are you? Speak up. This ain't a damn bit funny."

Longarm kept quiet.

Shaw's voice got a dangerous tone. "Dammit, Longarm, you better speak
up. If you are still curled up in that ditch behind that greasewood, you
better either talk or get into a mighty small ball."

Longarm got out the stump of the cigar he'd used the day before and then
fished around in his pocket until he'd found a match. He struck it on the
thick end of his thumbnail. It flared and he held it to the blackened end of
the cigar, puffing hard to get it going through the burnt layer. The cigar
was barely three inches long, but he was determined to get all he could out of
it. He had damn few comforts left, and he was going to smoke the cigar until
it burned his lips.

A shot suddenly rang out. Longarm glanced to his left. He could see a
spurt of dirt as a bullet cut through the lip of the wash, cutting through the
roots of the greasewood bramble. Another shot rang out, and then another and
another, all placed at the base of the greasewood, each cutting a little more
off the lip of the wash. Longarm could tell that Shaw was aiming carefully
from the precise way the shots were being patterned. It was clear Shaw was
cutting down the angle into the wash as much as he could. He wondered if Shaw
was back up on his chair, maybe had it leaned against the wall by the door.

Longarm listened patiently and watched as Shaw emptied one magazine in
his rifle, then, judging by the lack of time it took, picked up another rifle
and kept on shooting. Longarm did not keep count, but he judged that Shaw
must have fired somewhere between twenty and thirty shots before he paused.
Longarm could see a little furrow cut into the lip of the wash, and could see
that a number of the greasewood plants had been cut down at the roots. He
felt very glad to be out of the wash.

As best he could judge, none Of the shots would have hit him, but some
would have come closer than the shirt on his back. It would have been an
uncomfortable time to be frozen there while Shaw poured in shot after shot.
Longarm figured Shaw probably had four or five carbines, or as many as he'd
cared to take from his ill-fated comrades.

Shaw said in a loud voice, "That going to make you speak up, Longarm?"

"Hell, Jack, you awake already? Damn, I was just getting breakfast on."

There was a silence, and then Shaw said, "Longarm, you sonofabitch, where
are you? You done moved, ain't you? I thought, right after you throwed that
rock, you sounded funny. You moved then, didn't you? Only you went to not
talkin' so I wouldn't know it while it was still dark, didn't you?"

"You're a hard man to fool, Jack."

"And you let me waste all them cartridges on that damn ditch! Hell!"

"Yeah, but you shot the hell out of that ditch, Jack. If I ever seen a
empty ditch get the hell shot out of it, that one did."

There was a pause, and then Shaw said, "Where the hell are you? You're
around to the west side of the cabin, ain't you? What the hell you doing
around there? They ain't no cover I know of. And you sound too close to be
back far enough to be out of rifle shot.

"Maybe I ain't got no cover, Jack. Why don't you step on around and
see?"

"What are you up to? I don't much like you around there where I can't
get some sight of you."

"That's right, Jack. You never can tell when I'm liable to come crawling
up there and snake my way over to that front window and find you sittin' there
dumb and happy eatin' canned peaches."

Longarm heard Shaw sigh, then say, "Well, I reckon the game done turned
serious, Custis. I reckon it is going to come to a killing."

"It don't have to, Jack."

"Then what are you up to?"

"I wanted to get over here where I could watch the front of the cabin, at
least the side of it, but mainly I wanted a good view of the corral and your
horses. I never really knew when you might take it into your head to try and
break for it, grabbing a horse and taking off south. But now I can. I can
see every horse. I can see every foot inside the corral. I can even see a
little piece of your back door. You ain't gonna get your hands on one of them
horses. Not no way, not no how. At least not alive."

Shaw gave a bark of brittle laughter. "Hell, Longarm, that's all you
know. I could rope me one of them ponies from inside the cabin and bring him
in through the back door and have him saddled and ready to go. Come dark I
could come out of here at a dead run and be gone before you could get your
rifle ready."

Longarm said mildly, "No you couldn't, Jack. You ain't strong enough."

Shaw's voice was puzzled. "Strong enough for what?"

"To drag a dead horse inside your cabin, because he'd be dead before you
could tighten the noose around his neck. I can promise you that."

"Don't try and corner me now, Longarm. Don't try and hem me up. I get
plumb excited when that happens. I'm liable to come around one of them
corners with a gun going in either hand. I know you ain't got no cover."

"Yeah, I do."

"What'd you do, kill that packhorse? He get tired of drinkin' water and
come wanderin' over placed just so?"

Longarm could picture Jack Shaw standing just inside the cabin door, a
rifle in his hand, his hand to his ear, trying to place exactly where Longarm
was. He said, "Naw, Jack, he foundered himself."

"Foundered himself? On what?"

"I had a load of dried shelled corn on his back, and he ripped the pack
and the corn spilled out, and between that and the water he was getting out of
your windmill barrel, he managed to do the trick."

"That would just about do it," Shaw said. "I bet he swelled up like an
old maid's hopes."

"He'd pop you stuck a pin in him."

"That sun gonna be up pretty good right quick. You reckon he's swelled
up now, you let him cure under that sun for a few hours. I reckon by tonight
he ain't gonna smell so good. Reckon you can stand that?"

"Well, Jack, I been a lawman a good many years. I reckon I've smelled
worse."

"You ain't meanin' nothin' personal by that, be you, Custis?"

"Aw, hell, no, Jack. You ain't lowdown and rotten like some of them
crooks I got to deal with. You can't help it because you was born without."

There was a pause. "Without what?"

"Without a conscience. Hell, Jack, you don't know the difference between
right and wrong. Punishing you for robbery and murder and various other
crimes would be like whipping a schoolboy for liking pie over potatoes."

There was a longer pause. Then Jack Shaw said, "You ain't nowhere near
as funny as you think, Longarm. Meanwhile, that sun is going to get higher
and higher, and you are going to get hotter and hotter and drier and drier.
How much of this do you think you can take?"

Longarm calculated for a moment. Then he made up his mind and said,
"Jack, there is something we need to talk on."

"What?"

"Well, Hank Jelkco really done you a harm when he didn't cut that
telegraph wire. The last thing I did before I left the train and started
after you and your bunch was to get off a wire to the commander of the Arizona
Rangers company in Phoenix. They could show up today.

Or they could show up tomorrow. I figure they can't be more than two
days behind me at the most and likely making a hell of a lot better time than
I did."
Shaw said, "Aw, bullshit, Longarm, you expect me to believe that kind of
trifling talk? Hell! Pull my other leg, it's longer."

Longarm shook his head even though he knew Shaw couldn't see him.

"Naw, naw, Jack. Listen to the sound of my voice. Do I sound like I'm
shoveling it up? I tell you there was a wire got off to that headquarters
detachment of Arizona Rangers in Phoenix. And I can guarantee you that I
marked the trail I was tracking you over. I broke off limbs and I scuffed up
the sand. At one point I took a five-dollar shirt out of my saddlebags and
tore it into strips to mark the way.

They will still have to go through all those jumps and dodges you led me
through, but they will get here."

Shaw was still skeptical. "Yeah? How come you just now bringing this
up? How come you didn't tell me yesterday? How come you waited until you
seen you couldn't get me on your own, and figured you'd better invent you some
story? Ain't that about the size of it?"

"No, it ain't. I didn't tell you yesterday because you might have taken
off on me. I couldn't tell you until I was in this position where I knew for
certain I could stop YOU."

Shaw had a little worried note in his voice. "You are funnin' me about
them damn Arizona boys, ain't you? Them damn Rangers don't like me one little
bit. I done made 'em look bad too many times."

"I know that, Jack."

"Hell, they likely to not even take me back into town. They likely to
drag me behind a horse, drag all the hide off me. Who would have custody?

Hell, you're a federal officer, Custis."

"Yeah, but we are in Arizona Territory and there will be a bunch of them
and only one of me. Custody is something you argue about later in court. If
a squabble starts over it on the spot, it's generally the strongest side that
wins. But I do believe a court would later rule that I, by rights of being a
deputy U.S. marshal, would have custody. Or should have had custody."

"Goddammit!" Shaw said bitterly. "That's small comfort, Longarm, damn
small comfort. Hell, that bunch is about half outlaws they ownselves. And
they is a bunch of Mex's in with them. They liable to skin me alive."

Longarm nodded. "There is that chance, Jack."

There was a troubled silence. Longarm could hear Shaw sigh and curse
softly to himself. After a moment he said, "Well, Custis, I appreciate you
putting me on to this fact. I reckon now I'll have to take my chances with
you. I don't figure you can last. I'm about halfway willing to bet my neck
that that sun gets you before it is good and dark tonight. And I'm willing to
bet that you might even pass out from that heat. Or go out of your head.
What do you reckon?"

Longarm hated to tell him. He was afraid it might make Jack Shaw do
something rash. Of course that wouldn't be so bad either. Get this affair
over with and get on back to town. Longarm was promising himself as fine a
time as a man ever treated himself to if he ever got off this high prairie and
back to civilization. He was going to lie in a cold tub of water and drink
cold beer and eat one steak right after another. But first he had to give
Jack Shaw the bad news. He said, "I'm sorry to tell you this, Jack, but
matters ain't going to go in that direction. If I feel I can't hold on until
the Rangers get here, I'm going to start shooting your horses, and I'll kill
every one of them and leave you in the same shape I'm in. On foot. Out here
in the big middle of nowhere. I reckon they'll find you, Jack, no matter what
happens to me."

There was silence, and then Jack Shaw said, sounding amazed, "Why,
goddamn, Custis, that is just downright mean. Cruel! Shoot a man's horses?

Leave him afoot in this kind of country? Don't you know it was for just such
reasoning that we started hanging horse thieves?"

"Jack," Longarm said calmly, "I am a lawman. And you did rob a train and
kill several of the occupants. We take that kind of serious also."

There was a silence. A little breeze stirred the morning coolness. The
windmill blades creaked around, and water poured out of the little pipe and
into the water barrel. Longarm looked over at it longingly. It was so close,
yet so far away. Even if he was standing at the fence, he didn't have a long
enough neck and head like the horse to reach the water that was flooding out
of the barrel.

Shaw said, "You shore you wouldn't take some money and let me ride on
out, Custis? Hell, I could leave you ten, maybe fifteen thousand dollars
American. I'm talking money here, Custis. I know you are square as a
preacher's dice, but I ain't Worth all this trouble. Hell, you are sufferin'
out there, Custis. Whyn't you look the other way for about ten minutes and
you'll have you a nice little nest egg to hatch."

Longarm let him talk, waiting for him to run down. When, by the silence,
he figured Shaw was through, he said, "Jack, you are starting to run out of
time. At least you are gambling with your time. When you are able to see
those Rangers coming across the prairie, it will be too late for me to have
any control over the situation. You ought to give yourself up now."

"I can't do that, Custis." There was a pause. "I reckon I'm going to
have to take my chances on what kind of shot you are. If you last out the
day, I reckon sometime tonight I'll mix in with the horses and try and make a
getaway for the border."

"You convince me of that and I might have to start shooting horses right
now."

"Hell, Custis, you don't understand. I got enough I ain't going to cut
up wild no more. I'm heading straight for Mexico and I'm never coming back
across that line again. You've seen the last of me. What good will it do you
to see me rot in prison or swing at the end of a rope?"

"I'm glad to say I don't have to think 'bout such things, Jack. My
orders are just to go out and catch 'em. I don't have to decide if they be
guilty or set their punishment."
Shaw said morosely, "I know you ain't bulling about them Arizona Rangers.
Bulling never was your style, Custis. Not when it come to serious matters. I
hate like hell the situation has come down to this. Hell, Custis, it has got
damn serious."

At a little after noon they began talking again. Longarm thought Shaw
was starting to weaken enough that he might give serious attention to a
proposal Longarm had. He said, "Jack, what kind of wanted paper they got on
you in New Mexico Territory? I figure they got some, ain't they?"
Shaw said, the irritation plain in his voice, "You trying to crack a
joke, Longarm? Hell, yes, they got wanted paper on me."

"For what?"

Longarm could almost see Shaw shrug. "Oh, little cattle rustling.
Robbed a couple of banks. I never done much business there. That's a mighty
poor piece of country next to Texas and Arizona. Hell, I figured go where
they had the most to steal."

"You ain't got no murder paper out on you?"

"Not that I know of. Let me think. No, no, I don't reckon I killed
anybody there. Maybe as a lawman. Hell, it wasn't never my favorite part of
the country. Like I say, the damn place is poor an' it's already overrun with
all the trash and second-raters you can find."

"And you never killed nobody there?"

"Dammit, didn't I just say so? Hell, Custis, I don't have to kill folks
everywhere I go. I never killed nobody without it was for profit. What you
think I am, some kind of murderin' fool like that idiot they call Billy the
Kid? I notice he stays around New Mexico. That ought to tell you what I
think of the place."
Longarm said slowly, "I got a thought here. It ain't the best you want
to do, but it might be the best you can do."

"What is it? Hell, I'm open to nearly anything right now."

Longarm hesitated a moment, trying to figure how Jack Shaw would consider
the idea. If he was really afraid of the Arizona Rangers--which Longarm
thought he had every right to be--then he would have to look favorably at the
proposition. Maybe not at first, but in the end he'd have to see it as his
best alternative. Longarm wanted him to take it right away because he was
already feeling the effects of the sun. He knew his body was dehydrating, and
he knew he'd lost too much salt out of his system through sweating. He wasn't
certain how long he could hold out. In effect he was going on his sixth day
of driving his body to its limit. Even as blessed as he was with a first-rate
physical constitution, there was a limit to what he could stand.

impatiently Shaw said, "Well, dammit, Longarm, you got a idea or not?

Speak up, man, don't be bashful."

"All right," Longarm said. "I'll tell you what I'm willing to do. If
you will surrender right now. I mean pretty quick. I'm willing to take you
into custody and turn you over to territorial law in New Mexico. I don't
figure the border is more than forty or fifty miles from here. If I've got it
figured right, we ought to have a dead straight shot at Lordsburg, which is
just inside the border."
Shaw said, disappointment in his voice, "Hell, that ain't no idea.

That's robbing Peter to pay Paul. Why would I care if you turned me in
here or New Mexico?"

Longarm said, "That's why I was asking you what kind of paper they had on
you in New Mexico Territory. They'll string you up for sure here. Right away
if them Arizona Rangers catch you. And for shore within thirty days even if I
get you to federal or territorial law. They ain't gonna like what happened at
that train, Jack. I surrender you in New Mexico, you ain't wanted for no
hanging offense. You'll go to prison. I ain't going to try and convince you
that will be no picnic, because I would imagine you've seen such places when
you were a lawman. But at least you'll be alive. And you might escape. It's
been done."

Shaw was silent for a moment. Finally he said, "Aw, hell, Longarm, it
ain't no good. I see the point and it is a good one. Yeah, I'd rather a long
prison sentence than a short rope. But if you turn me in in New Mexico, the
governor of Arizona will write to the governor of New Mexico and back I'll go.
They got a name for that. I can't call it to mind."

"Extradition."

"Yeah, extradition. I can't see no advantage to that."

"I'll find a pluperfect ambitious sheriff in New Mexico. He'll fight
like a wildcat to keep you, Jack. Hell, you're big political medicine. You
got a big name. You got the kind of name they put it in the paper folks will
recognize it."

Shaw got a pleased tone in his voice. "You really reckon?"

"Hell, I know so. Listen, Jack, more than one political career has been
built on catching a lot smaller fish than you. I can't see New Mexico letting
you go back to Arizona without a fight. And that will take time, time that
you are alive, time that you might can figure out a way to make a break,
escape. Hell, Jack, anything is better than waiting here for them Rangers to
arrive. Crazy as they are. You know what kind of mood they will be in after
four or five days of hunting through them crags and gullies for the sign I
left. Hell, they might hang me."
Shaw said slowly, "Weeell, maybe you got a point there, Longarm. Maybe
it would be better. Hell, maybe I could escape from you before you delivered
me in Lordsburg."

Longarm said dryly, "I wouldn't count on that, Jack. I have gone to
considerable trouble over you. Wouldn't look too good on my report."

"What's in this for you, Custis?"

Longarm laughed. "That's easy. Get in out of this damn sun. Get a good
drink of water. Get a meal. Drink some whiskey."

"That horse startin' to smell?"

"Not yet, but I ain't kidding myself that he won't. But I think them
Arizona Rangers will be here before then. You better make up your mind,
Jack."

Longarm could hear Shaw thinking. Finally the bandit said, "I stay here
and the Arizona Rangers will come. Longarm, will you give me your word of
honor that they are coming?"

"Why, hell, no, I won't. I can't give you my word of honor on what
another man will do. I will give it to you that wires were sent to them and
that I left enough sign on the trail that a blind man could damn near follow
it, much less that bunch who knows this country a hell of a lot better than
you or me."

"Your word of honor on that?"

"Yes, dammit, I just said so."

"Damn!" Shaw said. Longarm could hear him sigh. "I know what a power
you set by your word. I reckon that means they will be coming. The other way
is to let you take me to New Mexico. That means a prison where most folks
would rather be dead. There is that other choice, though."

"Trying to make a break out the back? Right under my nose? Hell, Jack,
you might as well shoot yourself and save me the cartridges."

Shaw said thoughtfully, "I don't know. You been curing out in that sun
for quite some time. You right shore your hand will still point and your eye
follow? I got to figure you are pretty well wore down."

Longarm laughed. "You are talking like a man with a paper asshole, Jack.
Hell, at the worst it would be a shot of thirty to fifty yards with a good
rifle. I ain't going to miss at that distance."

"I recollect your rifle was fouled not that long ago."

Longarm thumbed back the hammer of his rifle and fired a shot into the
side of the cabin. Splinters flew from the rock face and the shot boomed loud
in the dry, still air. When the echoes had died, Longarm said, "That sound
like it's fouled, Jack?" He levered another shell into the chamber, listening
with his ear close to his rifle for the sound of any grit.

Shaw said, "Naw, I reckon yore rifle works. Course I ain't so sure about
you. You hit the side of the cabin. That don't tell me much."

"You got a empty whiskey bottle in there?"

"Oh, I reckon I could find one. That or a can of tomatoes."

"Well, throw one of them out far enough so I can see it from where I'm
at."

A moment passed, and then a clear, empty bottle came flying out of the
cabin and landed ten yards short of the ditch, bouncing and rolling.

Longarm had it in his sights before it had stopped moving. His shot
exploded the bottle into a thousand pieces. He said, "You satisfied, Jack?"

But just as he was about to lever a shell into the chamber of his rifle
he saw, out of the corner of his eye, a rifle come around the back end of the
house. He whirled and dropped flat behind his horse as Shaw's rifle boomed
and a shot sailed over his head. Without aiming he fired with his rifle
resting on the hindquarter of the horse. The slug chipped rock at the exact
spot the other rifle had just disappeared from.

It made Longarm angry. He said, "All right, dammit, Shaw. We were
negotiating. If that is the way you want to play it, I'm content to let the
Rangers have you. And to hell with you!"

"Hell, Longarm, what did you expect? I reckon if you was in this spot
I'm in, you'd try anything you could."

"Well, you just run me clean out of patience, Shaw. I'm tired of fooling
with you. I've been patient and straight, but all that is over with. You got
two chances the way I see it, slim and none. And Slim left town."

Chapter 5

Shaw said, "You plannin' on trussin' me up like a market pig, Custis?"

Longarm laughed without much humor. "Well, I can't take your word if
that is what you are getting at, Jack. I reckon you've already made it clear
that anything is fair so long as it saves your neck. I'd have to hinder you
in some way. I reckon you can understand that. I don't much care for the
idea of getting myself killed by trying to do you a favor."

"You figure taking me in is a favor, do you? Didn't you say something
about you was getting plenty sick of laying out there in the sun with no
water?"

"That's true enough. But I'm willing to do it if you'd rather wait for
the Arizona law. But I can tell you, Jack, the minute them little dots appear
in the distance, there ain't no more selections. I'll have to turn you over
to them."

"You still ain't answered me about binding me up. Custis, I tell you, I
can't stand that. It makes me go out of my head. I get to feeling like I
can't get my breath. I'd rather be kilt than all bound up."
Longarm said, "Well, I got a set of manacles in my saddlebags. How you
feel about them?"

"Wrist cuffs or leg irons?"

"Naw, they are handcuffs, some call 'em. I could fit you out with them.
That ought to keep you from being a wide-open threat. You understand, I don't
blame you for wanting to get loose. Was I in your shoes and headed where you
are, I'd want it too. But Jack, you done the robbing and murdering. Now you
got to pay up."
There was a pause, and then Shaw said, "I reckon I could stand the wrist
manacles. But would they be in front or back? I ain't sure I could stand to
be cuffed with my hands behind me. Minute you stuck my hands behind me, I'd
get an itch somewhere in the front or have to blow my nose."

"Oh, I reckon you could keep your hands in front of you. Long as I can
satisfy myself you was constrained and couldn't do no harm. You notice I
ain't bothering to ask for your word, don't you? Your pledge."

"You done said it once, Longarm. You'd be a damn fool to take it."

"Well?"

"A well is a hole in the ground, Custis. Damnit, don't rush me."

"Turn it sideways," Longarm said, "and it's a mine shaft.

"I reckon you feel like you can make jokes. Well, I don't."

"Jack, that sun is starting to cross overhead. We don't get out of here
pretty soon, we won't make enough miles the balance of the day to put much
ground between you and them Arizona boys. Now what is it going to be?"

At Longarm's direction Jack Shaw came walking out the front of the cabin
until he was plainly in view. Longarm said, "Move on out a little further,
Jack, and kind of bend it around toward me. I want to be able to get a good
look at you. And you look pretty damn silly with your hands in the air like
that. If you've got a weapon on you and you go for it, you ain't fool enough
to think I can't pull this trigger and fire faster than you can get it out."

Shaw, walking as he talked, said, "Just trying to get along, Custis.
Don't want to spook you into shooting me."

"I ain't got no interest in shooting you unless you make me. Keep that
in your heart, Jack, and we won't have no trouble. Now take off your shirt."
Shaw said, "Aw, hell, Longarm. That's just plain silly, tight as this
shirt fits. What you reckon I could conceal? That sun could burn the hide
off me in ten minutes."

"Take your shirt off, Jack."

With ill humor Shaw unbuttoned his shirt and then peeled his way out of
it. His arms and hands and neck and face were brown and leathery, but the
skin covered by his shirt was almost white in comparison with the rest of him.
Longarm could see his lean, hard build. The small muscles rolled and rippled
as he shucked the shirt.

Longarm said, "Now turn completely around. In a circle."

"Hell, this is getting ridiculous, Custis. Dammit, I've surrendered.
What more do you want?"

"You ain't never surrendered, Jack. And you and I both know that. You
are only doing my bidding because it is the best for you right now. All
right, sit down on the ground, facing me, and take off your boots."

Shaw stood there, his hands at his side, his skin looking whiter under
the sun. He said, "I'll be damned if I will."

Longarm laughed silently. By now Shaw was only fifteen yards away from
where Longarm was sheltered behind the dead horse. "All right, Jack, don't
then. Make a run for the cabin if you'd druther."

"Dammit, Longarm, you give your word!"

"I said I'd turn you in in New Mexico. And I will if you cooperate. Now
make up your mind. Either take off your boots or make a run for the cabin. I
know what can be hid in a boot because I've done it myself."

Jack Shaw sighed. "Let me save us both some trouble."

He bent over and started to put his hand inside his boot.

Longarm said quickly and warningly, "Hold it right there, Jack! Don't
you move a hair. I don't know what you think you're doing, but whatever you
are reaching for without permission had better be a biscuit or a picture of
your girl or something else we can all enjoy."

From his bent-over position Shaw said disgustedly, "Hell, it's a gun,
Longarm. A revolver."

"Then you better treat it like a fresh-laid egg. You reach in there with
just your thumb and one finger and bring it out and lay it on the ground. I
am going to guarantee you, Jack, that it is in your best interests not to
startle me or make me nervous."

"All right, all right." While Longarm watched him warily, Shaw drew a
large-caliber revolver out of his boot top. He carefully laid it on the
ground and straightened up. He said sarcastically, "There. You happy now?"

"Take five paces backwards, Jack," Longarm said evenly, "and then sit
down on the ground and take your boots off."

"Well, damn it all, if that don't take the cake. Hell, Longarm, what
else you want? Hell, it's hot out here."

"Same deal as before. Take the five steps back, sit down, and take off
your boots, or break for the cabin, I'll shoot if you don't do one and I'll
shoot if you do the other. Your choice."

For a moment Shaw looked undecided. Then, grumbling, he sat down
awkwardly on a tuft of bunchgrass and slowly pulled off one boot and then the
other. He did it carefully, never seeming to let the tops tilt downward.
When he was finished he set both boots neatly before him. He said, "There.
You happy?"

"Get up," Longarm said. He motioned with the barrel of his rifle,
standing up for the first time since Shaw had come out of the cabin.

"Now walk out yonder, north, forty or fifty yards."

Shaw was already on his feet. He looked amazed, then angry. "In my damn
socks? Hell, Longarm, you crazy? I'll cut my feet to pieces. There's all
kind of rocks and whatnot, not to mention bugs and spiders and even snakes."

Longarm motioned with his rifle again. "Watch where you put your feet.
You'll be all right. Now go on." He came around the horse and walked toward
Shaw, stopping some ten yards short.

Shaw snarled. "Hell, Longarm, you never said nothin 'bout all this
folderol. I thought we was gonna saddle up and get out of here. What's all
this about?"

Longarm smiled thinly. "I reckon you can guess, Jack. I don't mind
helping you out for old times sake. I just don't want to get killed in the
process. Would you do it any different if you was me?"

Shaw turned and started to gingerly pick his way out from the cabin. He
was watching carefully where he placed his feet. "Well I damn shore wouldn't
treat a friend this way," he said.

"You reckon we are friends, Jack?"

"Well ... friendly. Hell, I don't know."

"Have you got any friends, Jack? Real friends?"

"Hell, I don't even know what a friend is supposed to be. Yes, I got
friends. Ever'body's got friends."

"A friend is somebody you'd do something for even when there was nothing
in it for you."

Shaw was about halfway as far as Longarm wanted him. He said over his
shoulder, "Then I reckon I ain't got no friends. You got any, Longarm?"

"I think so."

"But I ain't one of 'em, is that it?"

"Ain't known you that long or that often, Jack. Friends ain't that easy
to make. Generally you have to get in some kind of test together, see if you
both hold up. You don't make friends drinking together or playin cards or
whoring around. Them is just acquaintances."

Shaw got out as far as he appeared willing to go. He stopped and turned
around. "I reckon then, if I'd been a real friend, you'd of let me go."

"If you'd of been a real friend, I wouldn't have had to let you go
because you wouldn't have been in this fix in the first place. And if you
had, you'd never have asked me or expected me to turn you loose."
Shaw said, "Aw, bullshit. All yore friends ain't honest."

Longarm walked over to Shaw's boots. He picked up one and turned it
upside down and shook it. Nothing came out. He said, "Maybe not, but they
damn shore wouldn't do nothing where I had to come for them." He pitched the
boot toward Shaw. It landed ten yards short. But the outlaw wasn't watching.
He was intent on the second boot as Longarm picked it up and turned it upside
down and shook it. Nothing came out, but Longarm didn't look satisfied. He
put the boot down on the ground and then knelt by it, keeping one eye on Shaw
and shifting his rifle to his right hand. With his left he felt around inside
the boot. After a half a moment a soft smile broke out on his face.

Shaw said, "Damn you, Longarm. Damn you to hell!"

Longarm worked his hand hard for a few seconds, and then drew it out of
the boot. He had a derringer by the butt end. It had been held inside the
boot by a sewn pocket. That had prevented it from falling out when Longarm
had upended the boot. But Longarm had noticed the difference in the weight
compared with the other boot. He held the derringer up for Shaw to see and
said, "Jack, you are a most amazing man. I reckon I better get you to drop
your britches. Wouldn't surprise me if you had a rifle tied to one of your
legs."

Shaw was furious. "Hell, I had forgot all about it. I wasn't tryin' to
slip nothin' past you."

Longarm laughed. "Yeah, forgot all about it. I guarantee you one thing,
ain't going to come a time when I forget about a pound and a half of steel in
one of my boots."

"You get used to it," Shaw said hotly. "I been carryin' it for years!"

Longarm broke open the action of the little gun, took out the two shells,
threw them one way, and then flung the derringer as far to the west as he
could.

Shaw said, "That gun cost forty dollars. You plannin' on payin' me for
it?"

Longarm picked up the now-empty boot and sailed it toward the outlaw.

"Oh, yeah, Jack. You can bet on that. Bet your whole pile on it."

Shaw stood, eyeing him. "Now what am I supposed to do?"

"Go put your boots on and then sit down."

"Where?"

"Right where your boots are."

Shaw was getting angrier by the moment. "Goddammit, Longarm, you are not
treating me like a white man. I need my shirt back on. This damn sun is
about to peel the hide off me."

Longarm said, "Then the faster you do what I tell you, the faster you can
get your shirt back on and get back in the shade."

Longarm could see how fortunate he was in the way his saddle horse had
fallen. Probably as a result of being totally played out, when Shaw had shot
him, he had crumpled straight down on his own legs rather than falling on his
side. He looked, Longarm thought, remarkably like a horse sleeping. But his
position was going to make it an awful lot easier for Longarm to get his
saddle loose than if the horse had fallen over and pinned a stirrup or was
lying on the girth cinch.

But right then all that Longarm wanted was his set of manacles. He stood
facing Shaw, covering him with his rifle, while he felt around inside his
saddlebags for the handcuffs. His hand almost immediately touched a bottle of
the Maryland whiskey, but he resolutely bypassed that and rummaged around
until he found the manacles. He pulled them out, starting toward Shaw, only
detouring to pick up Shaw's shirt. He came within five yards of the outlaw,
who was sitting hunkered down on the hot prairie. Longarm motioned for him to
stay down as he came up. He wrapped the manacles in the shirt and pitched the
package to Shaw. He said, "Put your shirt on and cuff one of your wrists with
the irons. And I better hear it take up to the last click."

It was all done quickly. When Longarm was satisfied, he had Shaw start
toward the corral, walking behind him and off to one side. It seemed to
Longarm that Shaw was not as tall as he'd remembered. But then, it had been
some time since they'd been side by side. Still, he reckoned Shaw to be at
least two or three inches shy of his own height of a little over six feet.
But that didn't really make much difference. In Longarm's line of work it
didn't matter about the size of the man so much as the size of the gun he was
carrying. Longarm couldn't remember many instances when he'd had to "scuffle
around in the dirt like some schoolboy," as Billy Vail had complained about an
arrest he'd made in his earlier days.

At the corral Shaw once again balked when Longarm told him to sit down at
the corner post and hug it. "Like your best girlfriend."

Shaw said, "Hell, I know what you want. You plan to manacle me to this
post. Well, I won't do it. I want out of this sun."

Longarm said reasonably, "So do I, Jack. But I don't reckon there is
anything to hook you to inside the cabin, and anyway, I need to be able to see
you. Most of the work is going to take place out here. I don't want you out
of sight."

In the end Shaw sat down, put both his arms around the post, and then
cuffed his own wrists. Longarm walked over close to see that the cuffs were
indeed locked and in place. He said, "Jack, you ought to be proud. I
generally don't take nowhere near as much trouble with other folks. But then
other folks ain't Jack Shaw. The only person I've ever known was meaner or
more dangerous than you was a girl name of Lily Gail Borden. She was a holy
terror. Nearly got me killed a half a dozen times."
Shaw said, "I don't reckon I care for the companion." He turned his head
and spat. "Some damn woman."

"She wasn't just some woman. She was the original black widow. Don't
get it in your mind that you got to be big and strong, Jack. I'm paying you a
compliment when I compare you to Lily Gail."
Shaw said, "Hell, Longarm, I don't want to hear none of yore stories.

You got me, now let's hurry up and get the hell gone before them Rangers
show up."

It took better than an hour to get them ready to travel. Longarm had to
get his saddle and bridle off the dead horse and pick one out of the bunch of
five he wanted to ride. He asked Shaw which was his horse, and was told it
was a big gray gelding who looked strong and powerful and full of go, but he
was not the kind of horse Longarm would have picked for the brutal ride.
Instead he chose to saddle a lanky, long-legged, lean bay horse for himself
that he took to be close to a six-year-old. Shaw said, as if in derision,
"That hide was Hank Jelkco's mount. Damn fool."

Longarm didn't know if he was talking about the man's choice in horses or
the way he'd forgotten to cut the telegraph wires. As far as Longarm was
concerned, an old border cattle thief like Jelkco would have a good idea for a
staying horse, a horse with plenty of bottom that could stand rough usage and
keep on getting a man down the road.

Longarm figured that a man like Jelkco, who wasn't very skillful at
anything else, would have to have had a good eye for a getaway horse or else
he wouldn't have managed to get as old as he had. His mistake had been not
being able to read men, especially men like Jack Shaw.

Longarm knew for a fact that many a man was eager to ride with Jack Shaw
because he'd been a lawman, which to them meant he'd be straight and fair and
know the secret ways to get around the law. Well, not only wasn't Jack Shaw
straight and fair, he didn't know any secret ways around the law, mainly
because there weren't any.

Longarm found quite a quantity of revolvers and rifles, along with a good
amount of ammunition, inside the cabin. Shaw had a bedroll and several big
canvas water bags, but nowhere near as much grub as he'd let on to having. In
the end Longarm found a canvas tarp that Shaw had been using as a groundcloth.
He turned that into a pack, lacing it over one of the three remaining horses.
After that he took time to get himself something to eat. He'd already drunk
his fill of water, just standing on his tiptoes, bracing himself against the
big, high barrel and sticking his mouth right into the stream of water that
was being pumped out of the ground by the creaking, rusty blades of the
windmill.

Shaw had been right about that part, at least. The water was cool and
sweet, almost like artesian water, but Longarm knew that it was a shallow well
that had tapped into one of the underground springs that dotted the country.
After that he ate some of Shaw's dried beef, a few stale biscuits, and a can
of peaches and a can of tomatoes. It was a long way from his idea of a meal,
but it beat the hell out of what he had had for the last day or two. He was
inside the cabin, enjoying the cool shade, for so long that Shaw started
hollering. Longarm just let him shout, and finished off his meal with a good
drink of his Maryland whiskey and part of a cigar. He smoked it only a third
of the way down, and then carefully tamped it out and put it back in his
pocket. He was down to two cigars besides the partial one. That was getting
seriously low on tobacco.

When he came out to saddle and bridle Shaw's horse, the outlaw was fairly
writhing with fear and rage. He said, "Goddammit, Longarm, are you tryin' to
get me taken up by them Arizona Rangers? Hell, Grammaw was slow but she was
old. What in hell you been doin'?"

"I been having a bite, Jack. Didn't you invite me to?"

"Hell, you can eat up the trail somewheres. We need to get the hell out
of here."

"Soothe your mind, Jack. We got plenty of time." Longarm reached in his
saddlebags and came out with a short little telescope. He pulled it out to
its fullest length and trained it north, toward the last few foothills and
mountains where Jack Shaw had come out on the prairie. He looked the country
over carefully. All he could see moving was a doe and a couple of fawns. He
compressed the spyglass and put it back where it had come from. "So far no
sign of them," he said. "We ought to be out of here in about a half an hour.
No more. By the way, I didn't see your winnings from that robbery in the
cabin. Where are they?"

Shaw looked up at him from where he was sitting on the ground with his
hands holding the post. He said, "Why, the money ain't here, Custis. I hid
it."

Longarm stopped pulling up the girth on Shaw's gray. He stepped around
the horse and shifted his way through two others to get to where he could look
directly at the outlaw. "What are you talking about, the money's not here?"

"I mean it's not here."

Longarm stared at Shaw's eyes for a long time. "YOU are lying, Jack, and
there's no sense in it. You ain't going to be able to come back here and
claim the money. You are going to prison if you don't catch a rope. Now
where is the money?"

Shaw jerked his head toward the north. "I cached it up yonder. Right
after I kilt them last two, or kilt the one who kilt the other. I wanted to
make sure the coast was clear to the border. I didn't want the money with me.
I feared it might give me away." He touched his cheek where the birthmark
was. "Not everybody was going to connect me with that robbery like you done."

"Son of a bitch!" Longarm said. He turned and walked away a few steps.
"Hell! Hell and damnnation! You have throwed me in a hell of a situation.
Damn!"

He stood there staring back at the small mountains, distant in the thin
air.

"What the hell is the matter?" Shaw said. "What are you so riled up
about?"

Longarm faced around to him. "Hell, Jack, think for a minute. I bring
you in in New Mexico. And I bring you in without the money. It ain't going
to look good. It ain't going to look good at all. Not even a little bit."
Shaw said, "Aw, hell, Longarm, ain't nobody gonna suspect you of stealin'
that swag. Hell, they'd suspect the President first."

Longarm went close to him. "Are you lying to me, Jack?"

"Hell, no. I swear I stashed that money back just at the foot of the
mountains. And for the reason I give you."

Longarm glanced at the far-away hills. "I ain't sure I believe you. How
much was the take?"

Shaw looked hesitant.

Longarm said, "Dammit, Shaw, I ain't putting up with this. Now, how much
was it?"

Shaw grimaced. "Little over sixty thousand, though I didn't count it
down to the last ten spot."

"How'd it come?"

"Some paper money, but mostly gold coin. Eagles and double eagles and
twenty-dollar gold pieces. Some fifty-dollar gold cartwheels."

"Sixty thousand, huh?" He whistled. "Not bad, Jack. No wonder you
didn't want to share."

"It's what I meant about not ever comin' back here again. I figured to
live the rest of my life on that money in Mexico."
Longarm said with disgust, "Aw, hell, Shaw. You couldn't have gone six
months without getting up to some crookedness. Do you really think you rob
and kill for the money?" He suddenly shook his head. "The hell with that.
You say you ain't got it here?"

Shaw shook his head. "I'm telling you, Custis. It's back yonder. A
good fifteen, twenty-mile ride."

Longarm said, "We'll see." He went through the back door and into the
dim interior of the small cabin. He looked slowly around, up and down the
walls and at the ceiling. The floor was hard-packed dirt. He walked
carefully over it, looking for any signs of disturbance. There were none.
Neither could he find a shovel or any other digging tool.

The only tool about the place was a wooden-tined pitchfork, and he
couldn't see where much could be done with that.

He walked slowly around the perimeter of the room, looking for places in
the rock where something might be secreted. But sixty thousand dollars in
coin and paper was quite a little bundle to hide.

He looked toward the ceiling, toward the few rafters that stretched
across the roof. There was no sign of anything or any sign that anything had
been disturbed. There was a small fireplace with a rock chimney. The
fireplace was empty, but Longarm got down on his hands and knees and looked up
the chimney. All he saw was a square of light blue sky.

He went back outside through the front door and walked carefully around
the cabin and the corral, looking for any sign of where the money could be
hidden. There was nothing outside on the featureless plain and nothing he
could see inside the corral that might do for a place to make a cache. Shaw
was swearing and cussing with every step Longarm took. "Dammit, Longarm, we
got to get out of here! You gonna git me hung. Hell, I give myself up to you
to avoid that. Now you goin' to stick around here until it be too late. If
I'd of stayed in the cabin I'd of at least been able to make a fight out of
it. Damn you, Longarm, the goddamn money is not here!"

Longarm didn't bother to answer. He stood, staring. It could be on the
roof, but he didn't see a ladder or any way of climbing the sheer walls of the
cabin. Still, it might have been thrown up there with the idea of coming back
with some way to get up there. He could at least have a look.

He ducked through the corral fence, went over to the windmill, and began
carefully mounting the rickety iron rungs of the ladder that ran up one of the
legs of the water-drawing apparatus. On the ground Shaw continued to cuss and
rant. It only took Longarm about four rungs to be able to see on top of the
cabin. Except for a few pieces of tumbleweed, the metal roof was bare. He
came thoughtfully back to the ground.

Shaw said urgently, "You gonna get me hung, Longarm.

Longarm looked north toward the hills. He said, "You say it is cached
back yonder?"

"Yes, hell, yes! Ain't that what I been saying?"

Longarm sighed. "Then I reckon we will have to go and get it."

Shaw went almost pale under his tan. He said, choking on the words, "Are
you plumb loco? We'll ride straight into them Arizona Rangers! They'll
stretch my neck like India rubber."

Longarm looked at him. He said calmly, "Yeah, that's probably what will
happen."

Shaw swallowed visibly, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his lean
neck. He said, his voice weak, "Longarm, you can't do this to me. Hell, you
are not that sort of man. Hell, you gave me your damn word of honor!"

Longarm was watching him closely. He could see fear in Shaw's face and
eyes. He didn't think he'd ever seen the man afraid before. In fact he had a
reputation for being fearless. Longarm shook his head. "You got it wrong,
Shaw. I give you my word of honor that the Arizona Rangers had been
telegraphed. I didn't give you my word of honor about nothing else."
Shaw said, "Dammit, Longarm. I am in your custody. I'm your prisoner.
You got to look out for me."
Longarm said, "And you claim that money is hid in the first part back
there of those hills."

"Hell, yes! Listen, I can draw you a map. As you come out of the last
of the bigger hills, the path leads you down a wide little draw with some of
that big Spanish dagger cactus all around. Off to the side is a jumble of big
rocks. It was the perfect place for a hidey-hole. You wouldn't never expect
to find nothin' in there except tarantulas and rattlesnakes. Hell, I swear it
is there, Longarm. You can take me into New Mexico and turn me in and then
head back for the stash. I give you my word you won't have no trouble."

Longarm stood, thinking. He hadn't felt altogether right about taking
Shaw over the line into New Mexico Territory. Now this, this about the money.
He wasn't sure. He'd been willing to transport him, not so much to keep him
out of the Arizona Rangers' hands, as to take him into custody before it was
too late. He knew he himself had started to fade, and he wasn't sure how much
longer he could have held out. It was a trade, and one he wasn't too proud
of, but hell, it all came down to the same thing. Shaw would get sent to the
territorial prison in Alamogordo, and not a hell of a lot of men walked out of
such places. And there'd be some in there who would recognize Jack Shaw as
the lawman who'd sent them up. Longarm wasn't too sure but what, after a few
months of that, Shaw wouldn't prefer a quick hanging.

Shaw said, "Custis."

Longarm looked at him. "What?"

"I give myself up to you on the understanding you'd surrender me in New
Mexico Territory. You can talk it all around any way you want to, but it
comes down to the fact that you made me a deal. Maybe you didn't give your
word on that particular part of the business, but we had us an understanding."

Longarm sighed and looked away. Shaw was right. He had, in effect,
entered into a deal with the man. And that deal was, as Shaw had said, to
surrender him in New Mexico. If they went back to the mountains, they would
run into the Arizona Rangers just as sure as it was going to get hotter. And
if they ran into the Rangers, he would have a hell of a time maintaining
custody of Shaw. They'd want him and they'd want him bad, and there would be
more of them than there were shells in Longarm's revolver, even if he was
willing to make a fight out of it. They'd be on the prod and they'd act fast
and figure to argue it out later at their leisure.

He looked at Shaw. "You are putting me in a hell of a position. But you
are right. You did surrender to me on a certain condition." He reached into
his pocket and took out the key to the manacles. "I'm going to pitch this
over to you. You unlock one wrist lock and then pitch me the key back. After
that you can see to putting lead ropes on them three ponies we won't be
riding. Then handcuff yourself again. I reckon I better see to getting some
water."

"I can do that," Shaw said hurriedly. "I can see to getting the water.
I can see to it all. You just set down with yore rifle where you can keep a
bead on me. I am much obliged, Custis. I really am. I'll get us ready
before you can skin a snake. You won't regret it. I promise."

Longarm gave him a sour look. "Then how come I don't feel better?"

"Just the lawman side of you worrying," Shaw said. "That's all. I need
to step into the cabin and get them canvas water bags and fill them up while
that windmill is turnin' and that little stream of water is flowin'."

"Go ahead." Longarm stood by the side of the back door, his rifle handy
in his hands. "If we're going we better get going."

Chapter 6

They had been riding for perhaps an hour, heading a little north of due
east. Longarm had the three extra horses, one of which was carrying the pack,
on long lead ropes that were tied to Jack Shaw's saddlehorn.

If he tried to break for it, he'd be encumbered until he could untie all
three ropes, and Longarm didn't think he could do that. Longarm had Shaw's
hands manacled together, but they were in front of his body and the cuffs had
a foot of chain between them. Longarm rode to Shaw's left and slightly
behind.

Several times Longarm had looked back, toward the low line of hills that
led to the mountains. Now, on top of a small rise in the prairie, he called a
halt and looked back again, his eyes searching the far-distant elevated
terrain. Finally he turned in the saddle, reached into his near saddlebag,
and came out with his spyglass. He extended it and put it to his eye,
concentrating on a small area of the foothills. The ten-power telescope
instantly brought the view closer.

What he had thought were little ants suddenly turned into mounted men
winding their way down from the hills and striking the high plains. He
guessed there were at least a dozen, maybe more. Without a word he leaned out
of the saddle and handed the telescope to Shaw.

It took Shaw a moment to locate the area, but Longarm could tell when he
did by the sudden jump he gave. Shaw said, "Hot damn! That's them and no
mistake!"

Longarm reached out and took the telescope out of Shaw's hand. He
collapsed it and put it back in his saddlebag. He said, "Let's move on, but
we better move slow. This ain't a good time to be raising a power of dust."

They had gone a half a mile before Shaw spoke. "You weren't lying,
Custis. I'm obliged to you."

"I don't generally lie about serious matters. This ain't exactly a poker
game or a courting excursion. But you don't have no reason to feel obliged to
me. The fact of the business is, Shaw, that I wasn't sure how much longer I
was going to be able to hold out. I come out of them mountains and hills
pretty well wore out and low on water. And that sun was cooking me. I was
going to be well done in a mighty short time. So you could say I'm doing what
I'm doing for the law and for the lawman."
Shaw said, "Yes, I reckon that is true. And I took that into account.
But you offered me the deal when you was taking the sun under a dead horse.
You kept your word once you had me in irons. You didn't have to do that. You
could have staked me out to a corral post and sat in the cool of the cabin and
waited for the Rangers to come. You didn't have to keep your word."
Longarm said, "I don't know what you are talking about."

Shaw gave him a faint smile. "I know you don't. I can't think of
another man I'd of trusted in that situation. But I knew you'd stick to the
bargain."

"Jack, you talk a hell of a lot. You know that? You don't have to say
everything you know like some damn woman."
Shaw said, "I thought you was gonna stick there for a moment on the
loot."

Longarm grimaced. "Don't remind me. Dammit, I am going to look bad
about this."

Shaw laughed. "You haven't got a thing to worry about, Custis. I'm
going to give you all the details about that cache that you need."

Longarm shrugged philosophically. "Well, Jack, if you're playing me
false, there is nothing I can do about it. But that money isn't going to do
you a damn bit of good. I know you figure to break out of jail or prison or
wherever and go back and get that money, but I don't think that is going to be
the way the stick floats."

The sun was burning hotter than ever, it seemed to Longarm. He had
soaked his hat and shirt and bandanna under the water, getting them as wet as
he deemed possible. They had felt like the cool touch of a virgin when he'd
put them on, but they'd dried out in half an hour and now there was no relief.
He was heading toward where he hoped would be another line cabin, about
fifteen miles distant from the other one. It was no certainty, however, as
the cabin they'd used might have been the last in the line.

But Longarm desperately wanted to find some shelter and more water for
the horses. He and Shaw had ample water with the water bags, but they were a
long way from any natural water. Longarm could only hope that there would be
another line cabin, that they would find it in the trackless wastes, and that
it would have a working water well.

As they trailed over the plains, it was clear that they were on a part of
the range that was closed until the autumn. There wasn't a cow in sight. In
fact, except for a jackrabbit now and again, or a skulking coyote, there was
nothing else alive that Longarm could see.

Shaw had not wanted to make for the line cabin. He'd feared that the
Rangers would pick up their trail at the first cabin and run them down.
Longarm had assured him that the Rangers couldn't possibly reach the first
cabin before dark and they'd be in no mood to trail anyone anywhere. He'd
said, "They'll be as give-out as I was, and their horses about the same. All
they'll want to do is get everybody well watered and then get some grub and
cover their backs with their bellies and have a rest.

Shaw had argued that fifteen miles wasn't much of a lead. Longarm had
said, "They can't go no faster than we can. You want to duck south? That's
exactly what they'd figure you to do and that's where they'll go to cutting
for sign. Besides, as chewed up as this country is, it is damn hard to pick
up and cut out any one set of tracks. By tomorrow morning our tracks will be
blowed over likely as not. All they are going to figure is that you are
cutting for the border and they will concentrate on that."
Shaw had said, "Yeah, but what happens when they see you ain't leavin' no
tell-tales like you had been?"

Longarm had smiled. "They'll reckon you done me in. But one thing we
got to get straight, Jack. We ain't partners and the decisions ain't open to
argument. Your job is not to fall off your horse and not to irritate me no
more than is absolutely necessary. Other than that, you are along for the
ride."

They had gotten away, by Longarm's watch, which he thought was still
telling the correct time, at three o'clock. Sundown, he reckoned, would come
around seven o'clock. If the line shack was no more than fifteen miles away,
they should make that with time to spare and without pushing the horses.
Before they had left he'd worked the grain sack loose from the dead packhorse
and spread the corn around for the five horses. It wasn't much, but it was
better than the dead bunchgrass that was all there was else for them to eat.
But it wasn't feed he worried about for the horses. It was water. Lack of
feed would only make them skinny; lack of water would kill them.

They had been riding about three hours when Jack Shaw said, "Longarm, how
come you don't hate my guts?"

It surprised Longarm. It was not something he'd given much thought to,
not in the case of Jack Shaw or most of the outlaws he dealt with. He said,
"I don't know what you mean, Jack. Why should I hate your guts?"

"Well, for openers I've pulled every dirty trick on you I could think of,
all the way from talkin' you into lighting up so I could get a shot at you to
concealing two guns in my boots."

Longarm laughed. "Hell, Jack, that's your job. I would have been
surprised if you hadn't pulled something. Hell, you're a bandit, an outlaw, a
robber. I ain't ever likely to take you for no circuit preacher. But one
little item, you didn't exactly fool me with that cigar business. I had my
own plans for that."

Shaw nodded. "Yeah, that one kind of misfires on me. Or at least your
rifle did. Yeah, you really suckered me on that one. I wasn't near as smart
as I thought I was. Naw, what I reckon I mean is I'm just about as opposite
of you as you can get. I ain't got no notions 'bout myself being anything
other than what I am. But a man like you ought to despise me. I would if I
was you."

Longarm shook his head. "Ain't no profit in it, Jack. You're like you
are because, well, just because you are. I do my job by not letting you do
yours. Or at least not letting you get away with it." He suddenly paused and
laughed. "When you think about it, Jack, I'm kind of beholden to you. If it
wasn't for you and your kind I'd be out of a job."

Shaw swung his head around, frowning. "That's a hell of a thing to say.
What do you mean, me and my kind? Ain't nobody like me. Hell, don't be
lumpin' me in there with the rest of that trash don't know how to eat with a
fork or when to spit and when to holler and can't read nor write even their
own names. I come from a good family and I had eight years' schoolin'. I was
even married once."

"I'm sorry, Jack," Longarm said. "I didn't know you was touchy on the
situation. I also didn't know you'd ever been married. What happened?"

Now it was Shaw's turn to laugh. "Damnedest thing. I married her whilst
I was the high sheriff in Brownsville. Only white woman in the county, I
think. Things was a little wild back then. That devil Cortina, the one that
called himself the Red Bandito, was cutting up pretty good and trying to steal
everything that wasn't tied down. She quit me and went back up to Houston.
Said I was in too dangerous a line of work."

Longarm smiled. "If she could see you now. Only about ten miles from a
party of Rangers every one of whom has a rope and the urge to use it."

Shaw looked annoyed. "That ain't a damn bit funny, Custis."

"Aw, take it easy, Jack. You're well away from them."

They rode a little further, and Jack Shaw said, "Naw, I mainly meant you
ought to hate my guts because I used to be a lawman, like yourself, and I
turned. I meant that as the reason. Like you might see me as a traitor."

Longarm said lightly, "First off, Jack, you ain't never been and never
was gonna be a lawman like me. Like yourself, they is some comparisons I
don't care for. If you'd been a lawman like me you still would be one.
Savy?"

Shaw glanced back, his lip curling a little. "Yeah, if that's the way
you'll have it. Ain't no matter to me. Though I reckon I ain't the first has
swapped sides of the badge."

"Lord, no!" Longarm said. "When I first come out here as a deputy U.S.
marshal, it was about as catch-as-catch-can an outfit as you ever saw. We all
worked for a federal judge. I was under one out of Fort Smith, Arkansas, and
worked the Oklahoma Territory. Hell, you never knew from one day to the next
whether you was gonna be drinkin' whiskey with your fellow marshals or looking
to hang them. I tell you them was some uncertain times. And I wasn't much
more than a young sprat hardly dry behind the ears. Was plenty of chances to
take a wrong turning in the road."

"And you was never tempted?"

Longarm let out a hoot of laughter. "Naw, Jack. Hell, no. I loved that
low pay and hard work and times. You even had to buy your own cartridges back
then. Made a man a better shot, I'll tell you that. Though I don't reckon
that was the intention. Tempted? Well, you show me a happily married man
that don't take a peek at a pretty woman from time to time and have little
thoughts pass through his mind, and I'll show you a man has never been
tempted. I ain't got no wings, Jack. They ain't standard issue."

Shaw said, "Well, it seemed like you never passed no judgment on me.
Even that time down in Mexico when we shared some whiskey and women. You
never said nothing. Never asked me nothing."

Longarm shrugged. "Man does what he wants if he can get by with it. I
don't judge 'em, I just catch them as wants to do what's against the law.
I've executed a few, but that was their choice. They had the selection of
giving themselves up."

Shaw looked back at him curiously. "Well, that's being their judge.
Ain't it?"

Longarm shook his head. "Naw. They judged themselves. Any man that
charges straight into certain death has done called the turn on himself and
goes out to get what he deserves. I was just the executioner in the business.
They was the ones put themselves on the gallows."

"You really believe that? You really believe a man will sentence himself
to death?"

Longarm nodded. "I do."

"Why? Why should they?"

"Either out of remorse or conscience or embarrassment or not wanting to
stand trial. Some that I had caught had had a taste of prison and knew they
couldn't take no more. Though I hadn't ought to be talking about that last to
you, considering where you are headed."

Shaw said, "I ain't worried about prison."

"You figure you can handle it? What happens if you run across some of
them you put the catch on?"

Shaw shrugged. "I'll worry about it when I get to it. I'm still trying
to figure out what you said about somebody running into a bullet because he
done something wrong. Remorse? Was that the word you used?"

"Yeah. I wouldn't worry my head, Jack. I don't reckon there's any
chance of something like that coming all over you and causing you to lose your
head."

"You don't think I know right from wrong, do you?"

"I know you know right from wrong. I just think you don't care."

"Would you be interested in knowing what caused me to hit the owlhoot
trail? To turn the badge around?"

Longarm wasn't particularly interested in knowing, but anything that
would take his mind off the heat would be welcome. He said, "If you're a mind
to speak about it."

Shaw pulled up his horse and unhooked a canvas water bag from his
saddlehorn. Longarm rode up to him, but kept his distance. The trailing
horses were content to hang back, their heads drooping, their tails switching
idly in the heat. Shaw unscrewed the cap of the water bag, got the opening up
to his mouth, and then lifted the bag until the water gushed into his mouth
and then overflowed as he poured faster than he could drink. He lowered the
bag and said, "Ah! Damn, there's plenty of times water is better than
whiskey."

"You better be a sight more careful with that," Longarm said. "I ain't
all that sure we'll find water tonight."

Shaw hung the bag back on his saddlehorn. He made no move to kick his
horse on forward. He said, wiping one sleeve across his face, "I wanted to
see what it felt like to be bad."

Longarm stared at him a moment trying to see if he had heard right or if
Shaw was serious. "What?"

Shaw spat over the side of his horse. The heart-shaped birthmark was not
as distinct in the tangle of his unshaven whiskers. They were black and
gnarly, as was his hair. He said, "Ever since I could remember, my ol' daddy
had beat goodness in me. I done the least little thing, it was out with a
switch or his razor strop or whatever. When I got older, it was a pretty
fair-sized paddle. My ol' daddy set a pretty good amount of store by being
good. So did my ol' mama, though she generally left the lickin' to my ol' pa.
I grew up believin' that if you done bad or wrong you got a lickin'. A hard
lickin'. A real hard lickin'. I didn't know much about being good. I wasn't
taught to be good, I was taught not to be bad. I never knowed there was a
difference. Anyway, that day I was in the bank in Del Rio, I didn't go in
there to rob it."

"You didn't?"

Shaw shook his head. "Naw. I never made no plan, didn't have no more
plan than a fly in a jelly jar. I was standing there, in that bank, and they
was starting to bring all the money out of the safe and put it in the tellers'
cages. All of a sudden I wondered what would happen if I just up and took
that money. I knew if you took cookies or pies or whatnot out of the kitchen
you'd get a lickin'. But I didn't know about taking money out of a bank. So
I just up and drawed my gun, me the town marshal, and took the money."

"Just like that?"

Shaw nodded, his face serious. "Just like that. Just robbed and ran.
Never planned it more than a second before I drawed my gun. I about halfway
expected my ol' pa to come round the corner with a good-sized stick and go to
flailing away at me. But he didn't." Shaw spat again.

"So that's how I come to rob my first bank, because I wanted to see how
it felt to be bad. Know what?"

"What?"

Shaw grinned. "I liked it."

"You liked it?"

"Yeah. I liked it a lot. Made me feel good. I kept waiting for that
lick from the paddle to land and it never did. Fact of the business is, I was
handing out the licks, so to speak."

"And you didn't plan it, that first robbery when you got away with so
damn much money? Just a kind of spur-of-the-moment affair, you say?"

Shaw laughed. "Spur-of-the-moment, hell. Spur-of-the-instant more like
it. One instant there is all that money coming out because the bank is
opening, and the next instant I got my pistol out and am taking that money."

"Didn't have no getaway planned?"

"Getaway? Hell, I'd hard-tied my horse so that I nearly couldn't get the
knot out of the reins. It was on that account I had to shoot the first teller
coming out of the door." He grinned. "He took the lickin'. Not me."

Longarm started his horse forward. Shaw did likewise. One of the
trailing horses came up abreast of Shaw's horse on the left side, working in
between him and Longarm's animal.

"And that is how you come to turn in your badge? All them years of
robbing and shooting come from a curiosity you had."

Shaw nodded. "Yep. I'd have to say that was true."

Longarm shook his head slowly. "Well, I guess that explains it a little
better."

"What? Explains what?"

"Oh, the way you are. The way you ain't got no hesitation about plugging
anybody, whether they be your partners or not. I always wondered about you.
I always kind of thought you was about as cold-blooded as any hard case I ever
run across. I reckon that any man that can turn from town marshal into bank
robber just to see what it feels like don't give anything much thought."
Shaw said, "I don't know I much like the sound of that. You give some
thought to how long I been operating and how few times I been caught. That
ought to make it clear that I give plenty of thought and planning to every
caper I pull off. I knew that first time was blind luck. It still scares me
sometimes when I think about it. That's why I'm so careful now. You asked me
about why I stayed in them mountains so long, jumping from one little range
over into another. Well, it's that kind of thinkin' has made me successful."

Longarm looked at him carefully. "I didn't mean that kind of thought,
Jack. I meant thought about what you were doing and the rightness or
wrongness of the matter, the consequences."

Shaw laughed. "Oh, I get it. Like what you was talking about them folks
had run judgment on themselves and stepped into a situation where you had to
kill 'em. Well, no, I don't speculate on them kind of matters for one second.
I'll never let you be my executioner because I feel guilty, Custis."

Longarm smiled. "You done proved that. Now we better get along. It's
getting late and we ain't spotted that cabin yet."
Shaw said, "Damn, I am nearly dying for a woman. How about you, Custis?

Could you stand a little?"

Longarm's thoughts immediately flew to the image of Molly Dowd. He said
quickly, "Dammit, don't start talking like that with us out in the middle of
the desert. Just save that talk for another time."

"You going to let me get to a woman before you turn me in, Custis?"

"Dammit, shut up, I said. I been out in this country as long as you
have. So save that talk until it will do some good."

Shaw laughed. "Aw, hell, Longarm, I'm serious. Who is the best woman
you ever knowed?"

"My mother," Longarm said shortly. "Now shut the hell up."

"Now Custis, they has got to be one woman that has stood out for you over
the years. I know I've had two I ain't ever going to forget."

"Well, do us both a favor and forget 'em for the time being."

"Just tell me if you generally favor darker women--you know, Mexican and
such--or do you like 'em light skinned and blond?"

Longarm rode his horse a little out to the left. "Mostly I like them
handy if there is any of this kind of talking to be done. Do you take my
point?"

"Well, what was the best you ever had? Can you remember that? I mean,
I've had a piece off a woman was the best I thought it could get. Then I've
gone back to that same woman and it wasn't shucks. How do you explain that?"

Longarm was silent, refusing to be drawn into the debate.

Shaw sighed. "Seems like at times like this the best you ever had was
the last one. That's what I feel right now. I wish to hell I was in bed with
them two Mexican women of mine right now."

Longarm was forced to speak. He could not help himself. "You take 'em
on two at a time?"

"Well, sometimes. You want to hear about it?"

"No," Longarm said firmly. "It ain't good manners to talk about women.
Now shut your trap. We got to make some miles."

Chapter 7

He wished to hell Jack Shaw had kept his mouth shut about women. The
minute he'd mentioned the subject, Molly Dowd had jumped into Longarm's mind,
and in trying to force her out of his senses Lily Gail had somehow horned in,
and you couldn't get Lily Gail out of your mind, not that easily, not without
something else to think about besides the blank prairie and the blazing sun
that left you about half light-headed, and not if you'd been without as long
as Longarm had.

Lily Gail. She'd had several last names in the short time Longarm had
known her. She was always claiming to have just been married, which was why
her last name had changed, but her husbands seemed to have recently gotten
killed. One of the reasons for that was that she seemed to pick her husbands
out of the Gallagher gang, which had terrorized Oklahoma Territory and eastern
Arkansas for a good ten years. Longarm had first met Lily Gail when she'd
been used as bait to lure him into a trap, and a well-baited trap it was.

Lily Gail was a smallish woman in her mid-twenties, though there was
still a lot of the girl about her. She had golden, butter-colored hair that
she wore just to her shoulders, usually with a little bow up front. The
surprising thing about her hair was that her pubic thatch was just as golden,
but it seemed to have an interweaving of strawberry color running through it.
Longarm had studied that silken little patch at very close quarters. It grew
out of the notch where her white and, oh, so smooth inner thighs met,
spreading upward and outward to form an arrowhead as if it were pointing the
direction to where the treasure lay, which it was. Then, with her legs up,
you could see as the little threads of fuzzy silk ran down and around her
vagina on both sides, sort of framing what lay between. It seemed as if the
careless little hairs grew more golden red as they came closer to that little
pink nest that they were protecting. All Longarm knew was that it made the
most exciting maze of colors when you took both of your thumbs and opened up
her vagina, seeing it go all pink and seeing the inner lips rise and come
toward you, already glistening with moisture and seeming to have an inner
pulse that you could feel as you lowered your lips to meet them.

Lily Gail had a vagina like none he'd ever found on any other woman.

She could seem to open it so you almost felt you could get your head
inside. But then she could constrict it so that she could close down on your
member and rhythmically milk it and massage it while you wanted to go out of
your mind with a pleasure that was so intense it was almost painful.

For a small girl she had surprisingly big breasts. But they didn't
droop. Instead they stood firm and erect, her nipples big as cherries almost
pointing upward. She liked those sucked. She liked to hold your head in her
hands and move you back and forth from one to the other, all the time moaning
and jerking her hips. Then she liked to take your head and move you down her
stomach, down through the forest of golden hair that carpeted the fat, little
mound at the bottom of her belly, down through that to where she could
suddenly drop your head with her hands and, so quick it seemed they'd already
been there, swing her little legs up and catch you in a grip and hold you
there. Then she would thrust at your mouth and tongue, thrust and writhe and
gasp and pull at your hair.

Longarm never talked about his women. And he knew that, even if he did,
he could never talk about Lily Gail because he didn't have the words to
describe her. He didn't know how to say, "She never gets enough," with
sufficient impact so his listener would understand that he was saying, "I
mean, SHE NEVER GETS ENOUGH!" So he had never tried.

He had simply run Lily Gail through his mind in slow sequences the way
you sometimes saw things so clearly and so easily in a gunfight. The other
man is reaching for his gun and you can see it, almost to where the blue is
worn off around the cylinders, can see it as he has the gun half out of the
holster, can see it as the revolver keeps on being drawn. But you are not
worried because you know that you are still comfortably ahead of the man, know
that you have already cleared leather and are starting to bring your gun up
while he is not yet clear. You can see him now starting up, but you know he
is too late.

You almost feel sorry for the man, do in fact have the time to feel sorry
for him, for your arm is already out and you are pointing where you are
looking and squeezing the trigger and dust is suddenly popping out of his
shirt where the bullet has hit and the man is going backwards even as he is
still trying to bring his revolver up.

Longarm could see Lily Gail like that, but he couldn't describe it. He
couldn't describe her mouth, for instance, which was constantly kissing or
sucking or licking. Once she got close enough, she fastened onto you with
that mouth, perhaps onto your own mouth, and after that she had some part of
you in it, even if it was just a finger or your knee, whatever she could
reach.

She seemed to almost melt into you, seeming somehow to get inside you and
at the same time wrap herself around you. She had a thin little layer of what
Longarm thought of as baby fat, and maybe that was what made her feel so soft
and pliable, so enterable. He could remember the first time, when he'd been
chained to a post in the barn, waiting for the Gallaghers to come and kill
him, and she'd come out in the late night and, by lantern light, had teased
him as she'd taken off her clothes. Then she'd gotten on her hands and knees
and backed toward him, with that beautiful round moon of what seemed like a
single buttock except it was slashed with the pink ribbon through the middle.
She had backed up to him as he'd waited on his knees, with orders not to move
his hands off his head, and she had somehow, without his hands or hers as
guides, reached up and pulled him into her, and then kept backing and backing
until he could not believe he was so deep inside her, and still she kept
backing until he almost felt like she was inside him.

Then, without using her hips or allowing him to move, she had worked him
and worked him with just that muscle inside her until he had exploded so big
and so hard he'd almost knocked her down. But she'd held him by his member
with that muscle, still working him, still milking him, until he had collapsed
and fallen to the barn floor.

But not only could Lily Gail never seem to get enough, she didn't seem to
figure you should either. More than once Longarm had looked into that pink
mouth, either one, and worried about when he would get out because she could
and would hold you until she was ready to let you go.

If he exploded in her vagina, she would just clamp that muscle a little
tighter and keep going. If it was her mouth, she would somehow harden and
tighten the rim of her lips and hold him and massage him back to life with her
tongue and slowly bring him back up again. She had once made him ejaculate
four times in the span of an hour, and would have gone for more if Longarm
hadn't pinned her down and lain on top of her until he could get the strength
back to get out of bed and put his clothes on. It made sweat start on his
forehead to even think about it.

He was lifting his sleeve to wipe his forehead when he heard, "Custis!

Custis! Longarm!"

He came back to himself to see Jack Shaw looking back at him and
pointing. Shaw said, "Ain't that a cabin off yonder?"

Looking where Shaw pointed, Longarm was able to see the top half of a
windmill and some of what looked to be a small cabin. It was about a half a
mile south and east of them. It seemed to be in a little depression in the
prairie, low enough that they could have missed it if they had been much
further north. Longarm, still trying to come back to himself, said, "I hope
to hell they have kept that windmill in good repair. These horses may not
need water right now, but they damn sure will tomorrow. Especially if we are
going to make any distance."

They rode slowly on toward the cabin. As they neared, Longarm felt
pretty sure that it was not in use. There was no livestock in the small
corral in the back, and no other sign of occupancy. The front door stood
open, though the windows on both sides appeared to De boarded up against the
blowing sand. This cabin, unlike the one they had used the day before, had a
small roof that extended out from the front of the house, making a little
porch even though the bottom was just dirt. Longarm could see an old,
cane-bottomed straight-backed chair lying on its side. As they neared he
could see that the blades of the windmill were turning slowly, though it was
too far to tell if it was pumping water.

Shaw said, "Looks like we won't have to turn nobody out."

"Or pay rent."

They rode past the house and circled around to the back of the pen.

The gate to the corral was closed. Longarm bade Shaw get down and open
it while he waited. The outlaw dismounted with his hands manacled, walked
over to the gate, slid a wooden bar back, and then pulled the gate outward.
When it was open wide enough, the gate drooped in the sand and stuck. Shaw
walked out, took his horse by the headband, and led him inside the corral, the
three ponies on lead ropes following. Longarm waited until they were all
inside, then rode over, took the gate in his left hand, and rode his horse
into the corral, pulling the gate closed behind him. He dismounted, shoved
the wooden bar home into its locked position, and turned around. Shaw was
busy unbridling his horse and throwing the bridle over the fence.

Longarm was gratified to see that there was water. instead of a deep
barrel, there was a long, wooden trough made out of planks. It was leaking
and it was shallow, but there was water in it and all of the horses were
crowding around, eager to drink. Longarm let Shaw get his saddle and saddle
blanket off his horse and drape them over the fence before he said, "Jack, I
reckon you better duck through the fence and walk on out there on the prairie
about fifty or a hundred yards while I get the rest of these horses set up and
make some kind of camp."

Shaw pulled a frown. "Aw, hell, Longarm, why can't I wait inside the
cabin? It is hot as hell. I need to get in the shade. Hell, I'm about wore
out. I ain't had a hell of a lot more rest than you have. Let me go in the
cabin."

Longarm shook his head. "I don't know what is in the cabin. And I
wouldn't be able to see you. You go on out yonder on the prairie and I'll
hurry as fast as I can. Won't be long. Get you a fresh drink if you want to
before you go. Or here  ... "--He turned around, dug in his saddlebag, and came
out with half a quart of his Maryland whiskey. "You can bite off a chunk of
this while you wait." He pitched the bottle over. Shaw caught it and started
through the fence.

Shaw said, "Well, hurry up. I'm starvin'. And hot. And about to go to
prison. And ain't had a woman in-"

"Shut up!" Longarm commanded. "Now, get on!"

He watched as Shaw walked south a distance. Finally the man stopped,
turned around, and squatted down. Longarm could see him uncork the whiskey
and tilt the bottle. It made Longarm's mouth pucker a little. He'd be glad
to get settled down and drink some whiskey in peace. The last week seemed to
have been so rushed he hadn't been able to do anything at rest or at his own
pace. Shaw had called the pace. Up until now. Now Longarm would call it for
a while.

He glanced toward the sun. It was hanging low in the sky, but it was
still hot enough to keep the turkey buzzards circling so high that they were
mere dots. He turned to his work of getting the horses tended to and making
some kind of camp.

The inside of this cabin was much like the other. The only furniture was
the chair lying under the porch roof. There was a door and a window in the
back, and with the ones in the front they let in enough light that he could
see the place. There was a fireplace, and he delighted to see a bundle of
kindling and a few pieces of split cordwood. A fire would not only take some
of the night's chill off the cabin, but it also meant they could have coffee.
Longarm hadn't had any coffee since he'd left the train and headed into the
mountains.

But tonight he was going to drink coffee, have some kind of hot meal,
smoke a cigar and drink whiskey, and get in more than a fitful two or three
hours' sleep. He didn't expect Shaw to be trouble, not this early. As they
got nearer and nearer to the law in New Mexico and further away from the
threat of the Arizona Rangers, then yes, he might go to cutting up. But
Longarm didn't figure Shaw had had much more rest and nourishment than he' had
had. Shaw might have gotten a little more whiskey drunk and a few more cigars
smoked, but he had been moving just as fast to stay ahead as Longarm had
trying to catch up. And Longarm hadn't had to slow himself up by murdering
six of his gang either.

He went out into the corral, noting that Shaw was still squatting on the
prairie, and got Shaw's bedroll and his saddlebags as well as his own. It
made quite a little bundle. He also brought in his saddle blanket to use as a
groundcloth. It was starting to turn into dusk. The twilight held for a long
time on the high plains, but he figured he'd better get Shaw in before he got
lost in the dark. He whistled and waved with his arm, signaling Shaw to come
in. He watched while the outlaw stood up and came walking forward, his arms
looking awkward not swinging by his side, being positioned by his hands being
manacled a foot apart. The bottle of whiskey swung from one of his hands.

Longarm opened the gate for him so he wouldn't have to climb through the
fence. As he came into the corral Longarm said there was firewood and they
could make coffee.

"Firewood," Shaw said. "Must have been left over since last winter.
Damn sure don't see any trees around here. Yeah, coffee sounds about right.
I hope you got some grub with you. I was kind of talking big about how much I
had left to eat."

"I figured you might have been," Longarm said.

They went into the cabin and Longarm stacked some twigs into the little
fireplace and topped that with some kindling. He struck a match on his big,
square thumbnail and got the fire started. Shaw said, holding out his hands,
"I reckon I'm gonna have to wear these?"

Longarm stepped back from the fireplace. He said, smiling slightly,
"What would you do, Jack, if you had you for a prisoner?"

Shaw pulled a face. "I reckon I'd truss me up like a Rig and keep a
cocked revolver in my hand and never close an eye."

Longarm said, "It don't have to be quite that severe, Jack, but I reckon
you will have to wear that iron. You and me both know you make up the rules
as you go along."

Shaw laughed without humor. "Never heard it put quite like that, but I
reckon you are right."

The firelight was starting to throw dancing lights around the room.
Longarm knelt over his bedroll, which he used as a pack as well. He came out
with a two-quart, gray, well-chipped and scorched enamel coffeepot. He handed
it to Shaw. "Why don't you step on outside and fill that up with water. I'll
find us some tin cups and stuff and we'll see about getting some supper on."

After the coffee water was on to boil and as the fire was simmering down,
Longarm got two cans of beans out of his pack, opened them with his
broad-bladed pocketknife, and put them, along with a can of tomatoes, into a
small, cast-iron skillet. He took what was left of Shaw's dried beef, cut it
into small pieces, added it to the beans, and then set the skillet on the
hearth near the fire to warm. Before they ate, he wanted at least one cup of
coffee sweetened with an equal amount of Maryland whiskey.

Shaw sat down in front of the fireplace and watched him work. He said,
"You're right handy around the kitchen, Miss Custis."

Longarm didn't look up. "You still got them two women you was telling me
about down in Durango, Jack?"

"Yup. Wish to hell they were here right now. You wouldn't care to make
a short detour, would you?"

Longarm looked up. "To where?"

Shaw shrugged. He gave a little laugh. "I was kind of kidding.
Wouldn't be such a short detour."

Longarm looked at him steadily, but didn't say anything. Just then the
coffee boiled over, grounds running onto the hot stones of the hearth.

Longarm hooked the pot by the handle with his knife blade and pulled it
back to cool some and let the grounds settle.

Shaw said, "That ought to taste pretty good."
Longarm said, "Funny how a man gets used to a few comforts. He can stand
damn near anything if they are handy. Like a cup of coffee at the right
time."

Shaw said abruptly, "Longarm, tell me about prison. You talked like I
might have seen the inside of one when I was a lawman. I never did."

"Never delivered no prisoners to the walls?"

Shaw shook his head. "Never was called upon to do so. Just never worked
out to be my job. So I ain't got the slightest idea what prison might be
like."

Longarm looked into the fire. He said slowly, "Well, they ain't trying
to pleasure you none, Jack, I can tell you that for sure." He looked over at
his prisoner. "But then they don't send you there for singing too-loud in
church. So it ain't meant to be no picnic."

"Yeah, but how close do they herd you? I mean, how close are you pent
up?"

Longarm frowned. He didn't want to say too much too soon. He didn't
want to spook Shaw and make him harder to handle than he knew he was going to
be. He said, "Well, they work you, Jack. It's hard work too. Breaking
rocks, mostly. But I hear they feed you pretty good."

"Naw, that ain't what I meant. I've heard they have prison cells like we
had jail cells. They got them?"

Longarm nodded. "Yeah, that's where you are when you ain't doing hard
labor. Why?"

"How big are they, Longarm, them cells? They bigger than a jail cell?"

"No," Longarm said reluctantly.

"They all bars like a jail cell?"

Longarm stared into the fire. He really didn't want to answer. Shaw had
already made it clear how he felt about being restricted. Even as he asked
the questions Longarm could hear him breathing like he was short of breath.
Longarm said, "You really want me to tell you, Jack?" He turned and looked at
the outlaw.

Shaw looked nervous. He spat toward the door, which was just to his
right. Then he said, shivering a little, "Getting kinda cool in here. Going
to be a cold night."

Longarm was wearing a canvas ducking jacket that he'd put on after the
sun had gone down. He didn't think Shaw was cold, but he said, "You got a
coat in your bedroll? I'll fetch it."

Shaw shook his head. "Naw, never mind. I'm all right."

Longarm took his bandanna off to use to hold the hot handle of the
coffeepot. He put two tin cups down and poured both two-thirds full of the
steaming coffee. He put a little sugar in his own, something he tried not to
be without, and looked questioningly at Shaw. Shaw shook his head and said,
"Just that sugar that comes in a bottle. They don't let you have that in
prison, do they?"

Longarm was about to raise the steaming cup to his lips. He lowered it
and laughed. "Well, Jack, how'd you like to have to deal with about a
thousand murderers and thieves if they was drunk?"

"I can hold my liquor," Shaw said stiffly.

"Yeah, but that ain't the point." Longarm took a deep slurp of the
whiskey-loaded coffee. The whiskey had cooled it off just enough where it
wouldn't burn his lips but was still plenty warm enough. He said, "Aaah!

Damn, seems like I been waiting about a hundred years for that. No, Jack, the
point is everybody can't hold their liquor. Besides, you got to keep it in
your mind that they are aiming to punish you for what you done. Giving you
whiskey ain't exactly punishment."

"I thought the idea was to lock you up where you couldn't get up to no
more devilment."

Longarm shook his head. "Naw, naw. That's partly true, but it ain't all
of it. When somebody comes out of prison they want to be sure he passes the
word around that it is best to walk the straight and narrow rather than pack a
six-by-eight cell."

Shaw was on the words instantly. "Six-foot-by-eight-foot? Is that how
big they are? Or how small? Hell, that's a damn closet. I ain't sure I
could stand that. Imagine being crowded in like that. Can you talk to the
hombres on either side of you?"

Longarm sighed. He had not wanted to get into this with his prisoner.

He said, "Not 'less you yell, Jack. The walls is pretty thick."

"Walls? You mean you're hemmed in on two sides, three sides, by walls?"

Longarm grimaced. He would have the truth. He said, "Four sides, Jack.
All you got in the door is a little eyehole for the guard to look through."

Shaw was staring at him, his eyes looking strange. "And you're all
jammed up in there?"

Longarm nodded. "Yeah, you and the man that shares the cell with you.
Unless you're in a four-man cell. They always make the men in the cells even
numbers so, say, two men can't gang up on one."

Shaw swallowed, hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. His hand had
started shaking so that he had to set his cup down on the dirt floor. He
said, breathing rapidly, "I don't think I could take that, Custis, I don't
think so at all."

Longarm looked at him, wondering if he were going to suddenly explode.
He hoped not. He would surely like to have a meal in peace and finish it with
whiskey and a cigar. He said soothingly, "Hell, Jack, you're a long ways from
that. I get you to New Mexico, I'll try and find you the dumbest sheriff I
can. Then you got to be tried. That can take months. Lot of chances to
escape in there, going to and from the courthouse. Get you a good lawyer.
I'd imagine you got some money in a bank somewhere. Don't go to thinking
about it now. Hell, you just managed to get away from them Arizona Rangers."

Shaw looked down at his cup, and then lifted it and drank swiftly. When
it was down he said, "I ain't so sure that was the best idea."

Longarm gave him a look. He didn't like the way the conversation was
going. He'd pushed the skillet up closer to the fire as it had burned down,
and now he could see that the beans were starting to bubble. He didn't have
but one tin plate and Shaw had none. "We didn't plan to set up housekeepin',"
Shaw had explained when Longarm had asked him how there couldn't be a single
pan or cup or tin plate among the robbers. "If you couldn't eat it out of
your hand, it was takin' up too much room. Besides, we was in kind of a
hurry."

So, with a big spoon, Longarm split the beans and tomatoes and beef into
two parts, putting half in the tin plate and eating out of the skillet
himself. He gave Shaw the only fork he had and used the spoon. It was a
little hot working out of the skillet, but Longarm made himself take it
slowly, even as hungry as he was. Through a mouthful of hot beans he said, "I
wish we had some light bread."

Shaw smiled with a glimmer in his eyes. "I wish I had your gun and a
fast horse and you had a feather up your ass. Then we'd both be tickled."

Longarm was glad to see him coming out of his shaky-looking mood. He
said, pointing at the manacles, "Those wouldn't be no hindrance to you?"
Shaw said, "Hell, Custis, you can't have everything. Didn't you know
that?"

"I did. But the rate at which you been robbing folks, I wasn't sure you
did."

Shaw laughed. "That's the trouble with easy money. It goes out just as
easy as it goes in. You got to act big, set up drinks for the house. Bet big
so you don't look like no tinhorn. Bet big long enough, you lose big."
Longarm said thoughtfully, "I'm glad to hear you figured that out."

Shaw raised his hands and jangled the chain between the cuffs. "You mean
this? I didn't feel like I was gambling this last job, Custis. You was the
wild card in the deck I hadn't counted on. Hadn't been you was on my trail,
I'd still be back there in the cabin waiting for a dark night." He leaned
back a little so he could see out the door of the cabin. "Moon is already
starting to wane. Probably tomorrow night would have been ideal. Cross maybe
an hour before dawn. Would have been black as the inside of a cow. You know
this country, you know how dark it can get."

Longarm nodded. "Without a campfire you can walk ten steps from your
bedroll to take a leak and never find it until morning."

"So this ain't luck. This is Custis Long."

"You asked me if I hated your guts. I reckon I ought to ask you the same
thing."

"You wouldn't care either way."

Longarm shrugged. "I don't know. I never thought about it before. Most
of the bandits I take in ain't as good company as you are, Jack. Most of 'em
is so bone mean, and have been all their life, they ain't had a thought for
nobody but themselves in all that time. That kind of folk makes damn poor
visiting company. Generally you can't wait to drop them off at the nearest
jail and wash the smell of them out of your hair."

"Well, if there was a question in there, no, I don't hate your guts. I
hate it that you have to be so damn good at your job, but I ain't got nothing
against you personally. Back there at the other cabin I would have killed you
if I'd of had the chance. And you would have killed me."

Longarm nodded and took a sip of coffee. His cup was nearly empty. He
said, "Yeah, this is kind of a rough game we have selected to play. Got some
hard rules."

Supper was long over. Shaw had washed up their utensils, with Longarm
watching from the door, and now they were sitting in front of the fireplace
finishing up the coffee and both smoking cigars. Shaw had put on a leather
jacket Longarm had gotten him out of his bedroll.

When he'd gotten it Longarm had been glad to see that Shaw carried two
blankets in addition to his canvas groundcloth. He was going to have to make
his prisoner sleep outside. There was nothing in the cabin to manacle him to.
The only choices were the two posts that held up the porch roof or the fence
posts in the corral. Longarm wasn't too sure about the fence posts, though,
as they didn't look as sturdy as the ones at the other cabin. He reckoned
he'd just have to bed Shaw down under the porch roof with his arms around one
of the posts. He knew the man would much rather be cuddling up to something
other than a roof post, but then so would he. But he'd been too careless with
Shaw already. When he'd let him unlock his manacles so he could put his
leather jacket on, Longarm had stood too close. He'd seen Shaw measuring him,
the manacles swinging from one hand as he'd adjusted the jacket. Longarm had
casually, but immediately, taken a step backwards. Shaw had smiled mockingly,
and then, giving Longarm the same smile, had put his free wrist back in the
cuff and clicked it into place. He hadn't said anything, but then he didn't
have to.

Now Longarm told him where he was going to have to sleep. He added,
"I'll get you a saddle blanket if you like. Put it down between you and your
groundcloth."

Shaw shook his head. Naw. It won't be that cold. Besides, it won't be
no colder out there than it will be in here. Not unless a wind comes up, and
I doubt one will."

Longarm finished his coffee and carefully tamped out what was left of his
cigar. He said, "Then I reckon we better get on with it. I think we had
ought to make a early start. I'd like to get away from here by dawn if we
can. Little before would be even better. Get some traveling done before the
heat takes it out of the horses."

Shaw stood up. There was still enough light from the fire that it lit up
the recesses of the cabin. He said, "I'll get my bedroll and put it down.
Then you can tuck me in when you're a mind."

Longarm laid out his own bedroll against the back wall of the cabin. He
put his saddle blanket down, unfolding it until it was stretched out to its
four-foot-by-six-foot length. Over that he put the tarp that he rolled his
blankets and the rest of his gear in. Most folks put the tarp down first and
then the saddle blanket, but Longarm had never cared to lay on the salt-soaked
saddle blanket, and certainly didn't want to smell it all night long. He put
his two blankets down, doubling the inside one. Lastly, he set his saddle at
the head to give him a sort of pillow. He could tell how cold it was the
instant he got very far from the fire. There was enough split cordwood left
that he could have gotten the cabin pretty warm, but it wouldn't have done
Shaw any good and he didn't think it would be fair otherwise. When he was
finished, he walked over to the door of the cabin. Shaw had made his bed by
the eastern roof post. Longarm could see he intended to sleep on his right
side with his back to the cabin. Once he was manacled around the post there
wouldn't be room for him to turn over. Shaw was standing by his bedroll. He
looked around as Longarm came to the door. About eight feet separated them.
Longarm said, "You 'bout settled in?"
Shaw said, "I reckon."

"You want a jug of whiskey to keep you company? You got a couple bottles
of your own left."

Shaw shook his head. "Naw. I've had enough. I don't know which feels
worse, getting shot or riding in this sun with a head aching from whiskey. I
think I'd rather be shot."

Longarm looked surprised. "I didn't know you'd been shot."

Shaw nodded. "Yeah. Wasn't a hell of a long time before I ran into you
down there in Mexico." He made a little crooked smile. "It was kind of like
this deal here. Only we'd robbed a bank and I didn't quite get my last
partner killed. I thought the sonofabitch was dead and was walking away, and
he raised up and shot me in the back.

Longarm shook his head. "Gettin' to where you can't trust nobody no
more. I reckon it must not have been fatal.

"I got lucky." He dropped to his knees on his blanket, and then turned
and sat down while he took his boots off. He was still wearing the leather
jacket, and the combination of that and the manacles made the task of removing
his boots awkward. Longarm made no move to help. It would have brought them
too close. Shaw said, "I bent over to pick something up--the money, I think
it was--when he fired. Bullet went in just above my shoulder blade and come
out by my right collarbone. Never hit nothing serious. But don't never let
nobody tell you that getting a hole bored in you is funny. Ain't a damn thing
funny about it. It hurts going in and coming out and hurts while you are
getting well. It was a full year before I had what I considered the natural
use of my right arm and hand. I could use them, but they was just a kind of
little hitch in it. That scar tissue, you know."

"Yeah, I know," Longarm said slowly. "I'm not much of a one for getting
shot myself. Though I'd rather have it hurt than not feel anything."

Shaw laughed. "Yeah, I know about that. No, I reckon I can wait for
that sensation."

"Or the lack of it."

"Yeah."

"You need anything else? You going to sleep in that jacket?"

"I reckon to."

"Well, you won't be movin' around much, so I don't reckon it will bind
you. Look here."

Longarm took a step toward Shaw and pitched the key to him. Shaw caught
it in the air, and Longarm watched as he unlocked one of the manacles and then
passed the end around the post. Longarm took another step toward Shaw, and
leaned to watch the outlaw put the cuff around his left wrist. Longarm said,
"You ain't got to make it pinch, Jack, but I want to see that cuff snugged up
and hear it click at least twice."

Shaw smiled slightly. "I ain't likely to break these." Still on his
knees he raised both his hands, the chain encircling the post. "You want to
check them?"

"Naw," Longarm said. "I imagine you'd like for me to forget to ask for
the key back, but I believe you just put it into your jacket pocket."

Shaw faked an astonished look. "Why, my goodness, did I do that?" He
swiveled his body around until he could reach into the side pocket of his
jacket. He came out holding a key so Longarm could see it.

Longarm said, "Pitch it as best you can toward the end of your blankets."

In an awkward move, with his hands restricted by the manacles, Shaw
transferred the key to his left hand and then pitched it toward Longarm. It
landed at the foot of the blankets. Longarm bent down, watching Shaw, and
retrieved the key.

Shaw laughed. "You looked like you thought I was gonna jump you. Hell,
Longarm, I ain't much of a threat to nobody."

"Can you get in your bed all right?"

"Yeah," Shaw said. While Longarm watched, he pawed around with his
stocking feet and worked them under his two blankets, gradually easing his
body down under his covers. Shaw said, "Yeah, I'm fine."

Longarm turned. "You holler at me if you're first awake. I don't reckon
you got any more interest than I do hanging around in these parts."

"If it hadn't of been for the horses and the water situation, I'd of been
willing to of kept on riding."

Longarm sat down on his bedroll inside the cabin and took off his boots.
The fire was down now so that it just provided a little glow in the room. But
there was still good moonlight, and enough streamed in through the two doors
and three windows that the interior of the cabin was clear enough. Longarm
had placed his bedding so that he could see through the door and see most of
Shaw. He didn't reckon the man was going anywhere, but still, he never slept
too well in the company of bandits, even when they were manacled to part of
the house.

Before he settled down, he took his rifle and hid it under the blankets
between himself and the wall. He pulled his gunbelt off, withdrew his
revolver, and snuggled it up under his saddle. For anyone to get at his
weapons they would have to disturb him. There were the other weapons, still
together with the rest of Shaw's stuff, but they were all unloaded and the
ammunition hidden in Shaw's saddlebags. Longarm would have hidden them in his
own, but his bags were full. It didn't make much difference. If Shaw somehow
got loose while Longarm was sleeping, the outlaw could brain him with a length
of cordwood. He could then arm himself at leisure.

Longarm shucked off his canvas jacket and threw it over his bed against
the wall. Finally, now feeling the cold, he loosened his belt, took his hat
off, and slipped down between his blankets. He'd placed a bottle of whiskey
to hand, and he had a good pull off of that before he got all the way laid out
with just part of his head resting on his saddle. It felt good to be
stretched out and warm. It felt good after all the hard, anxious going to
know that the chase was finally coming to an end. If they rode hard they
should be in New Mexico Territory by the next evening. Whether or not they'd
be close enough to a town big enough for him to surrender Shaw in, Longarm
couldn't say. He'd need to look at a map or ask someone.

He was not ordinarily a man who had much trouble going to sleep, but this
night his mind wouldn't settle down. He knew he'd played the Rangers false by
not leaving them any kind of sign, but he'd told Shaw if he'd surrender he'd
take him to New Mexico. With the conditions as they were and the position he
was in, he didn't see where he had had any choice. He hadn't known for
certain when the Rangers were coming, and he sure as hell hadn't known how
long he could hold out. So he'd made the best deal he could, and part of that
deal had been to keep his word about taking Shaw to New Mexico Territory. And
he couldn't have done that if he'd left the Rangers clear sign. It was, he
reckoned, a kind of moral and legal standoff.

With that straight in his mind, he shut his eyes and began to relax. In
a few moments he was deeply asleep.

Chapter 8

Longarm came awake to the sound of his name being called from someplace
near and the light tapping of something hard against his forehead. He opened
his eyes slowly, but moved no other part of him.

When he could focus, he saw Jack Shaw squatting on the cabin floor right
at his head with a revolver in his hand. He took care to note that the pistol
was cocked but Shaw didn't have his finger resting on the trigger.

Shaw said, "You better get up, Longarm. My bells, but you can sleep.
Somebody is gonna slip up on you in the night and do you a harm you keep on
sleeping that deep. Sleeping like a dead man, and for a damn good reason."

Longarm said, still not moving, "You want me to sit up or just prezactly
what?"

Shaw stood up and moved back, keeping the muzzle of the pistol covering
Longarm. He said, "Yeah, sit up and sling the blankets back."

Longarm did so, being careful to make his movements slow and deliberate.
Right then he had a lot of questions, but he didn't reckon it was the time to
ask them. He could see that the inside of the cabin was bright. At first,
when he'd opened his eyes, he'd thought it was because dawn had come. But he
could see now that Shaw had built up a pretty good fire in the cabin.

Longarm could see through the front door that it was almost black dark
outside, which meant that the moon was down and dawn wasn't far off.

He glanced toward the fireplace. He could see that the coffeepot had
been used and was sitting back from the fire a little. It looked as if it had
been placed to keep the contents hot, but not to boil over. He said, "What
now?"

Shaw chuckled. "You seem to understand this business pretty well,
Custis. What do you reckon is the next step?"

Longarm thought, probably walk me out in the dark and put a bullet in my
head. But he didn't voice the thought or give Shaw any other ideas.

He said, "I don't know. It's dealer's choice and you got the cards."

He was studying the revolver in Shaw's hand. It wasn't one of his. It
had ivory grips. He'd never cared for a gun with white on it. Unhandy in the
dark. It might not give you away, but why take the chance.

That meant that, maybe, Shaw hadn't found his gun under the saddle.

Shaw said, "I'm going to let you take my place on the front porch.
Unfortunately, I done took my blankets up so you'll be sitting in the dust."

Now he could see that Shaw had the set of manacles in his left hand.

They'd been dangling down by his leg, out of sight. He could see that
both jaws were open. He didn't know how, but Shaw had somehow managed to open
the cuffs. Maybe Longarm had been careless in checking and Shaw hadn't really
closed the cuffs around his wrists. But no, if he'd simply left them too
loose so he could slip his hands out, then the jaws wouldn't be open. No,
they had been unlocked. But how or by who, Longarm couldn't understand.

"You mind if I put my boots on?"

Shaw laughed. "I reckon we'll hold up on the boots for a bit. You seem
to know a good deal about boots and pistols. I wouldn't be surprised if you
had one in your boot. I'll check them when I get you settled down and pitch
them to you if they are all right. Move on out there now. It'll be cold at
first, but dawn ain't far off. I got to get moving. So I would appreciate it
if you would move along pretty fast. I seen you eyeing that coffee and I'll
fetch you some. Yeah, I've had time to make coffee and build a fire. Like I
say, Longarm, I'm surprised you're alive the way you sleep."
Longarm said grimly, "Me too."

He walked carefully out into the cold dark and stopped at the eastern
porch post. A rectangle of light was cast out the front door onto the dirt of
the porch floor. The right-hand corner of it illuminated the post. Longarm
stopped and looked back at Shaw. "What next?"

"Either sit down or get down on yore knees. You are gonna cuff yourself
to that post. You ought to be familiar with how that works."

Longarm sat down. He could feel the short hairs at the back of his neck
bristling. Shaw was a killer, a man who would put a bullet in your brain on a
whim. If Longarm was going to get shot, he'd rather not have it from the back
with his hands manacled. He looked around at the outlaw. "Jack," he said,
"if you're a mind to shoot me, I'd druther take it in the chest standing up."

Shaw laughed. "Hell, don't tell me the great Longarm is afraid. I
thought you was supposed to be copper-plated and bullet-proof. Hell! You
mean you put your boots on just like the rest of us?"

He gave Jack Shaw a level, hard look. "I can't stop you from shooting
me, Jack, but I don't need your mouth all over it."

Shaw gave a bark of laughter. "Hell, Longarm, I ain't gonna kill you.
You might die here, but I ain't gonna put a bullet in you. You played square
with me, and I ain't gonna put a hole in you for your troubles. You would
have been within yore rights back yonder yesterday in sayin' it was no deal
when I couldn't produce the money. But you didn't. You kept your end up. I
have friendly feelings for you, Custis, believe it or not. That is mighty
unusual for me. I hope you don't come to no harm. Now here. Catch this."

Longarm caught the manacles by the chain as they flew toward him. He was
sitting with his legs under him facing the post. He put one of the open jaws
over his right wrist and closed it, hearing the ratcheting sound as it closed
up. It was still loose on his wrist.

Shaw said, grinning, "I want to hear them clicks, Custis. You know how
to do that thing. I want to see you shove that ratchet home. I believe that
cuff on your right wrist needs about one more click. She looks a mite loose.
Might chafe you and we can't have that."

Longarm took his left hand and squeezed the cuff until the ratchet was
pushed into the lock one more notch. The click was audible.

"Now yore left hand," Shaw said. "Get a move on, Longarm."

With his right hand he encircled his left wrist with the opened cuff, and
then closed it down until he could feel it all the way around on his wrist.
He said, "That satisfy you?"

"Yeah," Shaw said. He shoved his revolver home into its holster. For
the first time Longarm noticed that Shaw had his gunbelt on. He'd never seen
the man wearing it because Longarm had had him drop it before he was allowed
to come out of the cabin when he surrendered.

Shaw was also wearing his leather coat. The outlaw said, "Custis, I'll
bring you some coffee and a bottle of whiskey, but I got to know where your
revolver and your rifle are. I ain't going to shoot you, but I ain't going to
leave it so you'll shoot me either. I've got the rest of the guns and gear
nearly packed up. I don't want to have to search the cabin, Custis, so don't
make nothing out of this."

Longarm spat. His mouth was dry from breathing the high plains air all
night. He said, "My revolver is in my saddlebag, the one facing the head of
my bed. My rifle is under my blankets up close to the wall. And I'd
appreciate some water if you can manage it."

Shaw said, "This ought to not take long. When I'm done I'll have a cup
of coffee with you and then I'll be on the trail."

He was back quickly with one of the water bags. It had better than a
gallon of water in it, and it was awkward for Longarm to get the top up to his
mouth. Shaw reached out a hand and helped him.

"You got it?"

"Yeah," Longarm said. "I can manage it."

"I got to get ready."

Shaw disappeared back into the cabin while Longarm drank. When he was
finished, he lowered the bag carefully and screwed the cap back onto the bag.
The cap was attached to the bag by a little chain so it wouldn't get lost. He
glanced toward the doorway, listening to Shaw rustling around. Half bemused,
he wondered if Shaw knew Longarm had two revolvers and that one was hidden
under his saddle and the other, the one with the nine-inch barrel, was in his
saddlebag. It really wasn't anything to speculate about, not so long as he
was chained to the post. He wondered if Shaw was going to tell him how he'd
gotten out of the manacles. Longarm felt that he would. He knew that Shaw
considered himself just a touch smarter than everyone else, and he didn't
think the man could pass up a chance to gloat. Whatever he had done had been
slick because Longarm couldn't think of a single way out of the manacles.
Shaw didn't have hands as big as his, but he still didn't slip them out.
Longarm tried pushing up against the ratchet with his thumbs, but he might as
well have been trying to move a mountain with a mule. The manacles were
solid.

Shaw came back out. He was carrying a cup of steaming coffee in either
hand and had a bottle of whiskey under his arm. He set one tin cup on the
ground where Longarm could reach it and stood the bottle of whiskey next to
it.

"There," he said, "that ought to be some comfort."

"Thanks," Longarm said. He unplugged the bottle of whiskey and poured a
little in his cup. He didn't want too much. As Shaw had said, having a
whisky head under a hot sun was not very pleasant. Longarm lifted his cup and
took a sip. "Aaaah," he said, "ain't nothing like a cup of coffee when you
have just lost your prisoner and are sitting in his handcuffs."

Shaw laughed. He had gone and fetched the chair that had been lying on
its side and brought it back and set it a few feet from Longarm. He said,
"Yeah, Custis, you may wish I'd of shot you. This ain't gonna look too good
back at marshal headquarters, wherever that might be. Denver, ain't it?"

Longarm nodded. "I guess you are going to make me ask you and then you
might not answer, but I'd give a pretty penny to know how you got out of these
cuffs."

Shaw smiled, enjoyment dancing in his eyes. He said, "I reckon you
would, Custis. But would you tell if you was me? Ain't that what you're
always askin' me?"

Longarm shrugged. "It don't matter. Probably something simple I just
overlooked. You having been a town marshal, you probably had a good deal more
experience with these things than me, Saturday night drunks and such. I don't
reckon I've used these damn things a half-dozen times since I got 'em. Don't
usually need them."

Shaw looked indignant at the idea that his law work had mainly involved
taking town drunks to jail. He said, "I don't know a damn bit about them that
you don't know yourself! And I reckon I handled a few rough customers that
wasn't drunk myself."
Longarm said, protesting, "Hell, Jack, it don't matter. I was curious is
all."

Shaw took a drink of his coffee. "I'm going to tell you." He slapped
his knee and let out a bark of laughter.

"Because I want to see the look on your face. It was slick, Custis,
mighty slick."

"I would reckon it was if you pulled it off."

Shaw leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. "Custis, it was a
piece of luck beyond what I could imagine. Back when I was in law I carried a
set of manacles just like you, in my saddlebags. And carried the key in my
right-hand pants pocket. You know the size of them things. They ain't so big
they bother you, but you are aware of them there in your pocket."
Longarm said dryly, "Keeps you from getting confused about which is your
right and which is your left."

"You want to hear this or not?"

Longarm smiled and sipped at his coffee.

"Anyway, over the eight, nine years I got used to carrying that key in my
pocket. It was like it was a good-luck piece or something. Besides, I wasn't
sure but it might not come in handy someday. You ever notice that a key will
open more than one set? Especially when they get older?"

Longarm didn't say anything, just sipped at his coffee.

"Well, when they get older and the notches get the edge off them, you can
damn near open a pair with the head of a horseshoe nail. You remember back at
the other cabin how I kept carrying on, asking you how you was going to truss
me up? Was you going to bind me, tie my hands together? I said I couldn't
stand it. Well, that part is true. I can't stand having my hands tied behind
me. I can't stand to be constrained."

Longarm nodded. "So you used your key to open them. Hell, I couldn't
have seen that coming. I searched you, but for weapons." He shrugged. "My
mistake."

"Naw, naw, naw. That wasn't the way of it at all. After I'd surrendered
and you'd thrown me them manacles to put on, my heart sank. Hell, they looked
brand-new, like they hadn't been used. And now you tell me they was.

Or at least very seldom used. Well, that scared me to death. My whole
plan had been that I'd be able to unlock your manacles when you chained me up
for the night. I knew you was as wore out as I was and that you wouldn't be
sleeping so light."

"Wait a minute," Longarm said. "What if I hadn't been going to manacle
you? What if I'd had to bind your hands?"

Shaw shook his head. "Then I'd of never surrendered. I'd of waited
until I saw them Rangers coming, and then I would have taken my chances with a
break on a horse. I know what kind of shot you are, Longarm, and I know odds
would have been against me, but that would have been a choice over the way
them Rangers would have treated me. I'd of waited as long as I could, letting
you get whipped down by that sun and lack of water. Then I'd of bunched the
horses and tried it that way in one bolt."

Longarm frowned. "Then where in hell did you get the key if you didn't
use the one you had?"

"Let me tell this my own way. Last night, when you got my leather coat
and let me get it on, I managed to get my key out of my pants pocket and into
the right-hand pocket of my coat. Last night, when you brought me out here to
chain me up to the post, you pitched me the key so I could unlock my left
manacle and get my arms around the post. I made a big business out of making
it look like I was being cute and hiding the key in my pocket. I wasn't. I
was switching keys. The key I throwed back to you was mine. You went to bed
leaving me with the key to those there manacles in easy reach in my coat
pocket.

Longarm nodded unhappily. "Well, congratulation, Jack, you made a damn
fool out of me. I reckon this is what comes of breaking regulations like I
done. Saying I would take you to New Mexico when I should have held you for
the Rangers."

"Aw, hell, Longarm. Don't take on about it. With your record, what is
one little mistake going to amount to?"

Longarm said grimly, "Quite a bit." He motioned with his head. "Up here
where I am supposed to do my thinking."

"By the way, I reckon you better stand up. Set your coffee down, this
won't take a minute." Shaw stood up, took his revolver out of the holster,
and laid it on the seat of his chair. He came at Longarm from the back as the
marshal stood up. First he patted Longarm's pants pockets, and then the
pockets in his shirt. He found the cartridges in Longarm's right-hand shirt
pocket. He said, "What's this? Ammunition? Longarm, that ain't going to do
you much good." He dug down into the pocket, pulled out the bullets, and
threw them off into the prairie.

It was still too dark for Longarm to see where they went.

Shaw said, "Where is that other key, Longarm?"

Longarm jerked his head toward the cabin. "In my saddlebags. I forget
which side." He said the lie easily and smoothly.

"I didn't see it when I went looking. for your revolver."

Longarm shrugged. "That's where I always put it. Look around on the
floor beside them. I might have missed the mouth. I never carry nothing in
my pockets besides that jackknife which is in by the fireplace. Stuff bothers
me in my front pockets. Pants legs are too tight."
Shaw said, stepping back, "Well, it don't really matter." He picked up
his revolver and sat back down, shoving the pistol home in its holster.

"I ain't leaving you a gun even if you could get loose. Besides, I'll be
long gone."

"Where you headed, Jack? Mexico?"

"By and by. First I'm going to notch back by the cabin and pick up my
winnings from that train."

Longarm gave him a quick glance. "Cabin?"

Shaw gave a small laugh. "Did I say cabin? meant canyon. Canyon, like
I told you. In that pile of rocks.

Longarm kept his eyes on the face of the outlaw. He felt pretty sure
that he himself wasn't the only one doing some hard and fast lying. He said,
"I'd figure you wouldn't head toward that part of the country. Liable to be
working alive with Arizona Rangers."

Shaw shook his head. "I don't reckon now. I reckon they would have
found no sign from you, other than them two dead horses, and headed due south
in hot pursuit figuring me to be running for the border. Why would they hang
around there?"

"You talking about the canyon or the cabin?"

Shaw frowned. "Why, either one. Besides, what difference does it make
if I run across them. I'll be coming from the southeast. They won't be
looking for me."

Longarm nodded toward Shaw's face. "There is that birthmark, Jack. It's
a dead giveaway."

Shaw touched his face. "Hell, I figure whiskers is hiding that cursed
thing by now. I ain't shaved in a week. Can you see it?"

"It's too dark to tell. Besides, I know it's there." He changed the
subject. "Let me ask you something, Jack. You claim if I hadn't been going
to manacle you that you'd of never surrendered. Now, truth be told, wasn't
you gettin' a little pent up in that cabin? Way you tell it, you don't like
to be crowded, and I had you where you couldn't go out the back or the front."

Shaw reached up and rubbed the whiskers on his neck as he thought. He
finally said, "Yeah, they is some truth to that. I can't stand that feeling,
and you was pressing me pretty close. But I think I'd of broke for it before
I surrendered. I was balanced on a knife blade anyways. But I figured on a
two-day ride after you made the offer about New Mexico. I figured I'd have a
chance to get loose from you. I know your reputation and all, but I was
counting on that key."

"So it wasn't just the thought of the Rangers made you decide to
surrender."

Shaw nodded. "Not altogether. I never figured to see the inside of
prison if that is what you are asking. But now let me ask you something."

"What?"

Shaw hesitated for a moment. By the light of the fire still coming
through the door Longarm could see something in Shaw's face he couldn't
identify. It looked a little like uncertainty, and a little like fear.

But Shaw didn't have any reason to feel either of those. Finally Shaw
said, "You talked about men you'd brought to bay running at your gun. Are you
talking about men that knew you?"

"What do you mean, knew me?"

"Aw, hell, Custis, you know damn good and well what I mean. Did they
know it was you, the famous damn Longarm? The dead shot? Quit acting modest.
Did they charge at you with any hope of overcoming you or getting past you?

In other words, did they know it was a sure thing they was going to get
killed?"

"You mean, was they executing themselves after passing judgment? Yeah.
I'd have to say they knew what was going to happen. As to that famous stuff
and the dead shot, I don't know. They didn't stop to give me their opinions
on the matter. What the hell are you so interested for? Ain't got a damn
thing to do with you. Last time you felt guilty was when you had to pay a
whore full price." Longarm suddenly shivered.

"What's the matter with you? You feel somebody walk over your grave?"

"Hell, Jack, it's cold. Or ain't you noticed?"

"You want me to get your jacket?"
Longarm said quickly, "No!" Then, realizing that Shaw might have read
something into his quick refusal, he said, "Can't get the damn jacket on
without taking off the cuffs, and then I'd be stuck in it when the sun
commences to blaze. You might hang one of my blankets over my shoulders. I'd
be obliged for that."

He turned his head and watched Shaw go into the cabin. He didn't want
Shaw going anywhere near the jacket with the key in the pocket. It was the
wrong key, but it was the only key he had. And besides, may be Shaw was
right. Maybe one key fit more than one set of manacles.

Shaw came back and threw the blanket over Longarm's shoulders. He said,
"Well, ol' partner, I reckon this is where we fork trails. It is getting on
for dawn and I better get to moving."

Longarm said, "I can't believe you are heading back in the direction of
them Rangers."

"Believe it. Believe it about sixty thousand dollars worth."

"I think you lied to me, Jack. I think that money was there at the cabin
all the time. Though I'm damned if I know where unless you buried it, but I
didn't see no shovel."

Shaw said, "Look at it this way, Custis. All in all, what the hell
difference does it make to you?"

Longarm shrugged. "None, I reckon. Except I always had a natural
curiosity."

"It didn't kill you this time. But I'd try and keep it in check was I
you." Shaw came over and dropped two cigars and a half-dozen matches. He
said, "I wish you good luck, Custis. I'm leaving two horses in the corral.
I'm even leaving your saddle and gear. They'd just slow me up."
Longarm said, "You know, Jack, if somebody don't come along I ain't going
to last long like this. Two, maybe three or four days."

Shaw nodded. "I know it. Tell you what. When I get where I'm going
I'll wire the nearest sheriff where you are. Maybe they'll get to you in time
and maybe they won't."

"I don't hold it against you, Jack. We both know how the game is played.
You are on the run. I'm just amazed you didn't put a bullet in my ear."

"I would have if I hadn't had no other choice. But I think this will
slow you up long enough for me to get my business done. I'll be taking off
now, Custis. I hope we don't see each other again. Not where business is
concerned. Maybe you'll take another vacation in Mexico and we'll meet up."

"You take it easy, Jack."

"Yeah, and you."

After a while Longarm heard the muffled sounds of hoofbeats, softened by
the sand, receiding into the distance. Only then did he realize how tightly
he'd been holding himself. He slowly relaxed down on to the ground. "Damn!"
he said aloud. "Boy, howdy!"

Given the situation, he would have never believed that Jack Shaw would
have ridden off and left him alive. He'd been expecting a bullet with every
word, with every move, with every second. But then, what made a man like Jack
Shaw so dangerous was his unpredictability. As a last gesture Shaw had
brought the coffeepot out, still half full, before he left. With an awkward
hand, because of the manacles, Longarm poured his cup half full and then added
a little of the whiskey. The coffee would be weak, second grounds, since Shaw
had just added water to what was left in the pot and let it simmer some more.
But that was all right. It was good and warm and felt good going down his
gullet. He hadn't been afraid as much as he had dreaded the thought of being
shot while manacled to a post. And then to be found like that. It wasn't the
way he wanted to go at all. Not that he'd ever selected a good way, or a way
he thought would be best. There was no best, just a few ways that were better
than it being clear he had been taken off his guard and manacled with his own
cuffs and then killed. It wouldn't have looked good on his record, he thought
wryly to himself.

He wasn't at all certain how he was going to get out of the manacles. He
had some hope for the key he hoped still resided in his jacket pocket, but he
had to find some way of getting loose from the post before he could worry
about the key. And until it got lighter he wasn't going to be able to examine
the situation very well. The fire from inside was dying out and casting less
and less light and less and less warmth. He was grateful for the blanket over
his shoulders. It didn't help all of him, but it at least kept his back warm.

The whiskey and coffee kept his insides in good shape, though he had no
plans to drink much of the whiskey. He settled down to wait for dawn, not
sure himself how far off it was.

As it had before, it came light all of a sudden. Longarm thought he
would never cease to be amazed by the sunrises and sunsets in the high plains.
There was something about them that clearly let you know a mighty hand was in
charge, and if not a hand, then a design that was intended to let you know
just about how small you were, no matter what size shirt you wore.

He guessed Shaw might have been gone an hour, but no more, maybe even
less. As soon as he could see, Longarm began the task of freeing himself by
examining the roof post he was chained to. It appeared to be a piece of
mountain cedar, some six inches in thickness. He thumped it up and down with
his knuckles, and pretty well convinced himself the post was solid and likely
to remain so for another hundred years or so.

To study the base he pulled his hands down, got down on his knees, and
put his face close to the end of the post. If it was buried in the ground, he
didn't have much chance. But as near as he could tell, and from what he could
see by scraping away at the rock-hard dirt around the bottom of the post, it
was just sitting on the ground and not buried. Next, he looked up to the end
of the post where it supported the roof. The end was against the beam that
ran all the way across at the edge of the porch. Longarm could not see a
single nail or screw or even a piece of wire holding the post and the barn
together. The post was simply held in place by the weight of the roof and the
post kept the roof supported. It was not a lash-up that was intended for the
fancy. It was only intended as a place for a cowboy to sit of a hot afternoon
and look out over the prairie from the shade.

He looked the roof over. It was made up of fairly heavy sawn beams that
formed a framework that had then been covered with tin. The back end of the
roof was held to the face of the building by what looked to Longarm, glancing
upward and leaning as far back as he could, like tin straps that had somehow
been secured to the rock face, maybe by long screws into the mortar between
the stones.

He sat down and took his boot off. It was a hard job working with the
manacles on. His plan was to try and lift the post and then, while he held it
an inch off the ground, slide his boot tip in under it. Then, with the base
of the post held off the ground enough for the chain to pass under, he'd get
down on the ground, slide the chain under until he got to his boot tip, and
then yank himself free. He had no idea if it would work or not.

He rested a few minutes, thinking about it, and then stood up and got
himself in position. He hugged the post to him and carefully curled his arms
around the wood. He could feel how slick it was, how the weather and the sand
had smoothed it down. Once, probably, it had had bark on it, but that was
long since worn away. The post was a little bent, but the kink was too high
up for him to make use of. He had to get hold of it around his belt or a
little below to bring his powerful back and leg muscles into play. Nobody was
going to lift the post and that part of the roof with just arm muscles.

He set himself, feeling for his grip. He could feel his heart beating.
If this didn't work, he didn't know what he was going to do. He tightened his
hands and then his arms around the post, pulling it to him, to his chest,
locking it solid. Slowly he began to lift. He could feel the post start to
come, feel it part with the dirt. He strained harder and harder, his teeth
gritted, his eyes closed, the sweat popping out on his forehead. Then, just
as he thought the post was about to come up some more, his hands began to
slip. Frantically he hugged the post harder and harder, desperately trying to
force it to rise.

Then, all of a sudden, he gave out. He collapsed to his knees, panting,
his breath coming in gasps. For a long few moments he stayed that way.
Finally he straightened up and sat down heavily. He looked up at the
underside of the roof. It appeared to him that the top of the post had moved
slightly from its centered position on the end beam.

He didn't know what that meant, but at least something had happened
besides him almost ruining his back.

He stayed down on the ground, studying the post, studying the roof,
trying to think of some way to get a piece of chain through a solid piece of
wood. He even eyed the matches Shaw had left him, wondering if he could
somehow set the wood framework on fire and burn the thing down. But the
roofing was tin and the boards of the framework were too far apart to burn.
If the roof had been shingled with wood shakes, he wouldn't have hesitated for
a moment.

Finally he looked at the chair Shaw had been sitting in and then up at
the roof. The front edge of the roof was low. He'd noticed, going and coming
under it, that he'd had to duck his head when he was wearing his hat. He
stood up and looked at a beam running from the wall to the front edge of the
roof. It looked to be a two-by-six plank. It was the beam the top of the
post was abutted against. When he stood up, it was only some six to eight
inches over his head. He glanced again at the chair, which he reckoned to be
about thirty-four or thirty-six inches high at the seat. It was, he thought,
worth a try.

He sat down again, and then lay down and wiggled and squirmed on his back
toward the chair, until he could just reach one of the legs with the toes of
his stocking foot. He curled his big toe around the leg, and then slowly and
carefully dragged it toward him. The chair came until he could get his whole
foot behind the leg, and he gave a jerk and the chair came flying to him.

Slowly he worked his way back up to a sitting position, and then circled
the post until he was out from under the roof. He pulled the chair up until
the seat was just touching the post on the cabin side.

He worked his way back around and, with some difficulty, picked up his
blanket, folded it, and then refolded it and then folded it again until it was
a good pad some six inches thick. With both hands he carefully placed it over
his right shoulder and across his neck. It would accomplish two things; it
would give him some added height and it would serve as a pad between his
shoulder and back and the hard two-by-six.

Before he did anything else, he sat down in the chair and carefully drew
his boot back on his right foot. The extra two inches in height might make
the difference.

Now was the test, and if it didn't work he didn't know what he was going
to do. He stood up and put one boot on the edge of the chair.

It was a cane-bottomed chair, so he couldn't use the middle. But the
back and the frame were made out of the same tough mountain cedar as the post,
and he figured it would stand the strain. Holding on to the post with both
hands, he positioned his right foot on the right-hand edge of the chair and
slowly stepped up, putting his left boot on the other side of the seat. He
was moving cautiously so as not to dislodge the blanket over his shoulder.

As he stood up slowly he felt his back and shoulder come into contact
with the roof beam with his body still not straight. He calculated that, if
he could and if the chair didn't break, he ought to be able to raise the roof
at least two or three inches. If he had the strength.

But at least he'd be using his biggest muscles, in his back and in his
legs.

He gave himself a moment to get positioned, feeling around for the most
comfortable position for his shoulder against the beam. He moved his boots
around, trying to get them as near the legs as possible. He figured he had
about one try. The chair could break and give way, he could hurt himself
trying to lift such a load, or the nails in the roof could give. If any of
those events happened he was finished.

When he was ready, he took hold of the post with both his hands, bent his
knees as he slowly straightened his body, and made firm contact with the beam
across his shoulder and the top of his back. He closed his eyes and
concentrated all his attention into straightening his legs. If the roof
cleared the post by a fraction of an inch he would whip his hands up and pull
the chain through the opening.

He put a strain on his legs, letting it gradually run up his body to his
shoulder. Nothing moved. It felt like he was pushing against solid rock. He
willed his legs to push harder. And then harder still.

He heard the chair creak alarmingly. Still there was no movement. He
could feel the sweat pop out all over his face. His teeth were gritted so
hard they must surely crack. He could feel the blood rushing to his face.
Still he pushed harder. The chair gave an agonizing shriek as if it were
being tortured. His feet felt as if they were going flat in his boots.

The roof moved.

It was very slight, but he had felt it give a little. He summoned every
last desperate ounce of strength he had. The roof moved slightly more. His
eyes were squinted so that he couldn't quite see the separation between the
post and the beam. With a last gasp he surged upwards against the roof in a
desperate attempt to be free.

He suddenly felt pressure against the chain. The post was starting to
fall outwards. If he didn't quickly get his hands up and pull the chain
through, the post would fall outward but stay hung against his chain, and
then, for added trouble, the roof would fall on him as he tried to get down.

With his body starting to fail, with his legs trembling, with his neck
and back screaming with pain, he made one swift, desperate move, through some
kind of opening. He couldn't see it. His eyes felt as if they were filled
with blood. And then part of the chair broke with a loud crack and the next
thing Longarm knew he was falling backwards. As he fell he saw the porch roof
following him. He tried, desperately, in midair, to turn so that he wouldn't
land full on his back. But then he hit; the breath jolted out of his lungs as
he landed hard. Before he went unconscious as his head hit the hard dirt of
the porch floor, he had a view of the porch roof continuing to descend,
threatening to drop a ton of wood and tin and nails and dust on top of his
aching, challenged body.

Chapter 9

How long he was out, he had no idea. All he knew was that he came to
with a splitting headache and the sight of the right half of the porch roof
hanging down within a yard of the ground. The post that had formerly held it
up was lying out in the yard where it had fallen.

For a long few moments he lay still without moving, trying to feel his
body, wondering if anything was broken. This was no country to break a leg or
a hip or anything else that would leave you unable to mount a horse, much less
catch one and saddle it.

He gazed along the length of his body and saw his bottle of whiskey lying
overturned. So was the coffeepot. Further on, the chair lay on its side.
The right leg appeared to have broken at a knot halfway down its length. He
thought, inanely, that he was getting good at making three-legged chairs.
He'd been in two line cabins and he'd made three-legged chairs out of all the
available furniture. Come fall, the returning line riders were going to
wonder who'd been assaulting their sitting material.

The roof gave a groan and seemed to settle a little more. It brought
Longarm alert. Ignoring his body's aches and complaints, he quickly reached
in and grabbed his coffeepot and cup and the bottle of whiskey, and then
scuttled backwards into the doorway of the cabin. Surprisingly enough, the
blanket was still on his shoulder, though it was now draped like a serape. He
knew he hurt, but he wouldn't let his mind think about it. He uncorked the
whiskey and had a long, medicinal pull. He gasped when he took the bottle
away from his mouth. He didn't normally take that much down at a time, but he
knew he was going to need it to oil up his joints and shoulder and back, which
he was pretty sure was broken.

He looked down at the manacles on his wrists. If he had to he could
operate while wearing them, but he was hopeful that the key in his canvas
jacket pocket would unlock them. If not, he'd have to find a town with a
blacksmith and get the smith to just cut the chain. It would be inconvenient,
but he could do his work.

He sat there. He felt a swelling desire to get on Shaw's trail, take
after him while the scent was still hot, but he couldn't make himself move.
He looked up at the porch roof. Fully half of it was now drooping down, the
right corner no more than a foot off the ground. He was amazed at what he had
lifted. Individually the parts didn't weigh much, but connected, they came to
a sizeable amount. He shook his head and shuddered, very glad to be free from
the post. He didn't stop to think what he would have done if he hadn't gotten
loose. He didn't want to think about that. As near as he could tell, the
remote cabin wasn't on the way to anywhere, and he could have been there until
he cured in the sun. Shaw had said he would telegraph back to a sheriff, but
whether he would have or not was open to question. As was whether or not some
sheriff would have ridden fifty miles on the dubious validity of a telegram.

He was about to get up, dreading it, when he happened to glance down at
the right side of his right boot. It had split. Where the leather of the
boot was sewn to the sole, the stitching had broken. He could see little
tufts of it sticking up from his sole. He could wiggle his right toe and see
it move through the split. "Damn!" he said aloud.

There was nothing for it but to get up and see if the key fit. If it
didn't, then it was saddle a horse and take off with his hands a foot apart.
He rolled over and came to his feet. For a second he swayed and little white
spots danced in front of his eyes. He stayed still, willing all the parts of
his body to take control. After a second the dizziness passed. He took a
step and felt like his hips were breaking.

"Damn!" he said aloud, driving the word through his gritted teeth.

The next step wasn't any easier, nor the next. He said aloud, "Hell, I
feel two inches shorter. Maybe three. Maybe four."

He could feel the pain as a constant, beginning in his right shoulder,
jumping over to his backbone, and then spreading downward all the way through
his hips, then down to his knees, and finally to his ankles and feet. "What a
job," he said wearily. "But it shore beats working."

He made it to his blankets, and then eased himself to the ground. For a
moment he sat very still, letting the pain do its best, letting the pain just
go ahead and consume him as he relaxed his body into it. He had learned a
long time ago that you only made matters worse if you tried to fight pain. If
you tried that, all you did was stiffen up and make your muscles rigid, and
wear yourself out in the fight. And it was a useless fight because the pain
was going to win no matter what you did. The best way to handle it was to sit
back and let it come, accommodate yourself to it. That way, after a while, it
got to be a part of you so that you didn't notice it so much anymore. But you
had to be willing to be patient and sit there and relax and get used to it.

It didn't make it hurt any less, but after a while you got so you didn't
notice it so much.

He took another hard hit off the bottle, but did it slowly and
resolutely. He was very conscious that had many hours ahead of him with the
sun beating down on his head. That, at least, was a good thing. The sun
might not do him any other good, but it would at least bake some of the hurt
out of his bones and muscles and joints.

Finally he reached back over his blankets, got his canvas jacket, and
dragged it to him. The key was still in the right-hand pocket. It was a
round steel key with teeth on the end and little wings to turn it with. It
was about the size of a pistol cartridge. In the dim light he could see
numbers die-stamped on the side of the key. He looked for a matching set on
the manacles. There was a set of numbers, but they didn't match those on the
key. He contemplated the keyhole in his left manacle. It was a round little
hole with notches that hopefully matched the teeth on the round little key.
Hopefully he stuck the key into the hole. It fit. He tried turning the key
to the left. Nothing happened. He frowned. With not much optimisum he
turned the key to the right. It went halfway around and he felt something
click inside the manacle releasing the ratchets. He felt the cuff come loose.

"I'll be damned," he said. He opened the cuff and removed his left hand.
To the inside of the little cabin he said, "What the hell they put numbers on
'em for if they all fit the same?"

With confidence he transferred the key to his left hand and tried the
right cuff. The key went into the hole with no trouble, but nothing happened
no matter which way he turned it. "Aw, hell!" he said aloud. "Now what the
hell am I supposed to think. Damn it!"

He kept jiggling the key back and forth in the hole, turning it left and
right, trying it in different positions. Nothing seemed to work.

For a moment he stared at a far corner of the cabin. He was damn near
better off cuffed than like this. He'd have two feet of cold steel swinging
off the end of his right wrist. That ought to make for some exciting times,
trying to saddle a horse or use a revolver.

He got up and went over to the fireplace. His jackknife was there. He
opened it, but the blade was too thick and not sharp-pointed enough to go in
the hole. He was on the point of giving up when he saw the fork lying in the
tin plate that Shaw had used. He picked it up. By tilting it sideways he
could get two of the tines deep inside the lock.

He prodded and pushed the fork into the hole, slowly working it around
the circle. Nothing happened. Sometimes when he would press with the fork a
certain way he'd feel something give, like it was being pushed into place. He
kept up the poking and pushing, circling and circling the keyhole. All at
once the cuff released. He felt the ratchet bar that encircled the bottom of
his wrist come loose. He said, "Well, now I will be damned. Any prisoners I
take from now on are going to eat with a spoon."

He took the manacles off his wrist, stood up, and walked over to his
saddlebags. He dropped the manacles. He'd pack them later. Right then there
was something he was much more interested in. He leaned down, with his hips
protesting, and lifted up his saddle. His revolver lay where he'd hidden it
the night before. It was the one with the six-inch barrel that he normally
carried. The pistol with the nine-inch barrel had been in his saddlebags.
That was the one that Jack Shaw had found and taken with him. Longarm reached
down, picked up his gunbelt, and strapped it on. Then he opened the gate of
the cartridge cylinder and spun it. There were five shells in the revolver,
and more lying out in the desert, if he could find them. He shoved the gun
into the holster. It was time to get packed up and get to making tracks.
Shaw already had a three- or four-hour lead, but Longarm felt like he knew
where the outlaw was headed. He might not be, but if Longarm could pick up a
little sign, he felt sure he would, sooner or later, come upon the man. He
wondered what Shaw had left in the corral.

It had taken him over a half an hour to get packed up, get a horse
saddled, and put a second horse on lead. Every move had hurt him, and
consequently, everything had seemed to take twice as long to do. He had been
correct in assuming that Shaw was going to leave him the worst of the horses.
Shaw had even taken the bay that Longarm had been riding. He hadn't thought
so much of it the day before until Longarm had picked it out, but now he
seemed to have changed his mind. The two horses he'd left were not much to
begin with, and they'd been given hard usage and damn little feed. Longarm
couldn't do anything about the feed for the time being. They'd just have to
travel like they had full bellies. At least they'd been well watered the last
few days.

So far as food went, the horses weren't the only ones getting shorted.

Shaw had not left Longarm so much as a can of tomatoes. He'd also taken
a bottle of Longarm's precious Maryland whiskey. Longarm was left with barely
half a quart. But that was all right. If matters went as he hoped, he
expected to be in a town the following night.

Once back to civilization, he could get fresh ammunition and some food
and feed for the horses.

One thing that had surprised him was that he'd had two hundred dollars in
folding money in his saddlebags, stuffed into the pocket of a clean shirt.
Either Shaw had missed it or it was too little for him to bother with. The
man, Longarm thought, was a killer but not a thief. That was a fine situation
for you.

By two o'clock the prairie felt like a furnace, and he didn't reckon he'd
covered half the distance to the original line cabin. Shaw had gone to no
trouble to try and hide his sign, even if he could have in the loose dirt of
the country. The tracks of three horses were as plain as day. A half an hour
after he'd last looked at his watch, he found an empty tomato can where Shaw
had obviously dropped it. The man had just punched a hole in it with his
knife and then sucked all the juice out of it.

Longarm felt sure that Shaw was heading for the line cabin. That,
Longarm knew, was where the money had been hidden. He didn't for a second
believe that nonsense about some canyon. There was probably a canyon, all
right, but it was a very small one that Shaw had dug somewhere around the
cabin, though where that was, Longarm had no idea.

If he succeeded in catching Shaw, the first thing he was going to ask him
was where he'd hidden the money. If he wouldn't tell, Longarm was going to
try and beat it out of him, and failing that, offer to let him go in exchange
for the truth. Things like that ate at Longarm's vitals. He couldn't stand
to be fooled like that. He'd known the day before that the money was at the
cabin, but he just couldn't figure out where. It hadn't made any sense that
Shaw would have hidden that amount of cash up in the mountains somewhere. Too
many things could happen to it. Hell, squirrels could come along and chew it
up to make a nest. Anybody could accidentally find it. No, you didn't rob
that much money and then walk away without having it near your side.

It was a long day. Longarm had plenty of water out of the canvas bag
Shaw had left for him, but nothing besides that except half a cigar, and water
and cigar smoke weren't all that filling. The horses were looking gaunt, and
there was no reason for them not to be. Being an outlaw's mount was not a
good job in the general scheme of horse business. There were better jobs,
like working as a carriage horse for a banker, or maybe being a lady's
pleasure horse and working every other Sunday. There was the hardship of the
sidesaddle, but ladies didn't weigh very much and you had plenty of time to
stand around in the pasture and eat and get your strength up.

Longarm did not ordinarily dwell on such matters as what job was best for
a horse. He figured maybe the sun was getting to him. But then, anything was
better than thinking about the report he'd have to write if he didn't
recapture Shaw. As it was, he'd been on sticky ground about transporting a
prisoner from one territory to another, but that part could be made
understandable with the culprit in hand and given the circumstances. But if
he lost both the prisoner and the stolen money, it was going to put a far
different perspective on the situation. And he wasn't just talking about
handing Billy Vail a good laugh for his mistakes. This was serious business
and might well lead to a reprimand or worse. Anyway you looked at it, it
wasn't going to look good on either his record or his reputation. There'd be
no excuses either. He'd had the prisoner in hand. His only job, besides
recovering the money had been to get Shaw behind bars. He'd failed at that.
Shaw had outsmarted him, and that was a matter no lawman could have against
him.

He had the faint hope that Shaw really had hidden the stolen money in a
canyon in the last foothills he'd traveled through before reaching the high
prairie. If that was the case, Longarm would be in an ideal spot to cut the
outlaw off after he had retrieved the money and turned south again toward
Mexico. But it was becoming clearer and clearer, as the day wore out and the
tracks of the three horses headed relentlessly west, that Shaw was heading for
the cabin. Had he been going north toward his canyon, he would have bent off
to the right some time back.

It got hotter. Longarm had planned to ride one horse half of the
distance and then switch. But he had further decided, at the pace he was
making, that he'd wait and ride the other animal the next day.

They were both about equal, with nothing outstanding to choose between
them. The horse he was on was a little bigger, but he was also a little
fatter than the tough-looking pony that Longarm had on a lead rope. But not
fat enough. The lard was rapidly melting off him under the desert sun. The
horse had been standing in somebody's barn or feed lot for too long. He was
soft and not used to such work. Longarm was taking it especially slow because
he couldn't afford to have the horse quit on him. The only thing worse than
having two such horses in such country was having only one.

By his watch it was closing on four o'clock when he sighted the cabin.
He didn't have to look for it. If he'd kept his head down and done nothing
more than watch the tracks of Shaw's horses, he would have run right into the
thing. As best he could figure, he was about three or four hours behind Shaw,
maybe more. But he had no intention of setting in to chase the outlaw. For
one thing, the horses wouldn't have lasted, and for another, he was pretty
sure he knew where Shaw was heading. After the horses had rested and drunk
some water, he'd reconnoiter. He felt sure he'd find Shaw heading in exactly
the direction he expected him to be.

There was a dead horse in the corral behind the cabin. It was the
muscled-up dun that Shaw had been riding. There wasn't a mark on him.

It was clear he had just gone sour from the work and the pace Shaw had
set. Probably Shaw had let all three of his hot, worn-out horses drink their
fill at the barrel, and the horse least likely to stand it had foundered and
rolled over and died.

The reason Shaw hadn't waited and let his animals cool out before
allowing them to drink was quickly clear to Longarm's eyes. What he saw made
him want to jump up and down and gnash his teeth and bang his head against the
stone wall of the cabin.

The big five-foot-high barrel was lying on its side. Longarm could see
several bullet holes through it about midway up. Apparently the barrel had
been too heavy to tip over when it was brimful of water, so Shaw had drained
it by knocking some holes in it with .44 slugs. Longarm stood on the wet,
muddy ground and shook his head, cursing himself.

The money, mostly gold, had been at the bottom of the barrel. Hell, he'd
drunk from the pipe coming from the windmill that had flowed into the barrel.
Now, with the barrel on its side, the water was spilling out of the pipe in a
thin stream onto the ground. Longarm righted the barrel and looked down to
its bottom. No doubt Shaw had had some kind of oilskin covering he could wrap
the money in, maybe his slicker. But it really didn't make much difference.
It wasn't going to hurt the gold at all, and all it would do to paper currency
was get it wet, even if Shaw had just dropped it into the barrel in the
original canvas bags it had come in.

Longarm shook his head. His horses were standing outside the corral,
nickering to get in and get at the water. He moved the big barrel back under
the stream. It wouldn't fill back up again because of the holes halfway up
its sides, but it didn't matter. The water would be close to three feet deep,
and that would be plenty good enough for his horses.

While he waited for the barrel to fill, Longarm took a walk south of the
cabin, cutting a wide circle. The first set of tracks he came across were
headed due south. But there were way too many of them, at least twelve to
fifteen horses as near as he could figure. That, of course, would be the
Arizona Rangers heading dead straight for the border just as Shaw had
predicted they would. Still on foot, he completed his circuit around the
cabin, and was surprised to find no more tracks leaving, not in any direction.
it puzzled him for a time, but then he smiled to himself and went to see to
watering his horses.

It was dark by half past six. Longarm had spent the last half hour of
light tearing what wood he could off the fence. Since it was all board, he
was able to get a surprising amount of wood and still leave the fence intact.
Shaw had, either on purpose or through forgetfulness, left Longarm's coffee
intact. Even the sugar was still there, though the little bag was almost
empty. He figured to have a pot of coffee before supper and then one
afterwards. For supper he would smoke a cigar. But he had a more pressing
need for the coffee than just for himself. Just before he went to bed he
would brew up a pot, making it very strong. The next morning he would give it
to both of his horses. Coffee sometimes gave him an extra burst of energy,
and it would do the same for his horses. He had used the trick many times in
the past and it had always worked, though it was dangerous because it caused a
worn-out horse to do more than he naturally would. You didn't want to do it
to the same horse very often, and you didn't want to do it to a valuable
animal because it could cause a mount to not give you the clues he normally
would when he was playing out. The first you'd know about it was when your
horse was keeling over. Longarm's two dead horses were still where they'd
fallen, except the buzzards had been at them, as well as coyotes, and they
were pretty well stripped down.

That night, a little before eight, he built up a fire, made a pot of
coffee, and then sat in front of the blaze drinking coffee and whiskey and
smoking a cigar.

After his horses had watered, he saddled the horse he'd ridden that day,
a roan, and rode out in a line parallel to the Arizona Rangers' tracks. He
rode on the eastern side of the chewed-up ground. Sure enough, as he had
thought, he had not gone more than a mile when he found a set of tracks, what
appeared to be two horses with one bearing more of a load than the other,
branching off to the southeast. It made Longarm smile. It was such a simple
trick he was amazed that Shaw would even bother with it. But then, he must
have figured it would take such a little effort that it was worth doing. When
Shaw had left the cabin, sometime earlier that day after he'd retrieved his
money, he had disguised his direction by riding over the tracks of the posse,
going far enough to hide his real intentions, but not so far as to cause
himself any real inconvenience. It only served to confirm to Longarm what
he'd already been thinking, what Shaw's final destination was. Looking at the
tracks, Longarm knew, with a sense of satisfaction, that he and the outlaw
were going to meet again and in the not-too-distant future.

Back at the cabin he sat, smoking and thinking and staring into the fire.
It went back to when he and Shaw had met up by accident in Durango, when
Longarm was taking some leave and had gone down to kick up his heels. They
had been in a whorehouse discussing the relative merits of the Mexican putas.
Shaw had said he didn't know why he bothered with such as he had two girls
that he kept at his ranch that would put anything they had seen to shame.
Longarm had been amazed. He'd said, "Ranch? Ranch? You got a ranch, Jack?

I got a hard time seeing you messing with cattle. Or even raising horses.
I'd guess you to be too busy on the owlhoot trail to take time for such."

Shaw had laughed and admitted that he really wasn't much of a rancher.

He'd said, "I guess it is kind of stretching it for me to call the place
a ranch, since I don't keep no cattle and shore as hell don't raise no horses.
Too easy to steal." He'd said that what animals were on the place belonged to
the Mexicans he kept there to look after things. He'd said, "Mostly what I
like about it is it's on the flat-ass prairie and you can see anybody coming
for miles. I don't like being snuck up on if you take my meaning."

He had not identified the whereabouts of the ranch, but he had made
several references to a town called Douglas. The only Douglas that Longarm
knew about was in the extreme southeastern corner of the Arizona Territory,
very close to the New Mexico line and right on the border with Mexico. The
Mexican town across from Douglas was Aqua Prieta, and Shaw had mentioned it
several times, mostly complaining about the lack of trade goods in the
primitive place and the necessity of crossing into Arizona if you wanted to
find good whiskey or cigars or cartridges. Longarm was satisfied that Shaw
lived on a hacienda someplace outside of Aqua Prieta. If he did, Longarm was
sure to the point of certainty that he could locate the ranch.

But that, of course, was only half the battle. The other half would be
taking Shaw in, and that was no small chore. Jack Shaw, as far as Longarm was
concerned, was no ordinary outlaw. Fortunately. If they were all as smart as
Shaw, he reflected, his job would be a good deal harder.

As the night came on, so did the cold. Looking up at the sky, Longarm
noticed that the moon was definitely on the wane. Outside, there was much
less light than there had been. It was coming on to the phase of the moon
that Shaw had been waiting for. Longarm calculated it to be at least a
two-day ride to Douglas, and that on good horses. Probably, Longarm thought,
Shaw had been able to make fifteen or twenty miles after picking up the money
sometime that morning. He'd be camped somewhere along the route to Benson,
which was directly on the way to Douglas and Aqua Prieta. If Shaw pushed it,
the next day he could be camping close enough to the border to cross over in
the dark the following morning. Longarm knew he had no hope of catching the
man. He only wanted to stay close enough behind him to take him while he was
at his ranch relaxing with his two women after the labors of the trail.
Longarm knew he could not push the two horses. Neither one of them could take
it. He had some hopes of buying another when he reached Benson, which he
calculated was twenty-five miles away. He hoped to buy a good horse, but
since the money would be coming out of his pocket, he had to be able to buy a
horse for a good enough price that he could hope to trade it or sell it later.

Which was one irritating feature about his job. Since a federal marshal
could requisition a horse or horses from any federal installation, including
the cavalry, the government took the position that any horses a marshal might
be forced to buy on his own were his problem. It was all well and good to say
you could recquisition horses, but when you were in the middle of a place
where there weren't any government installations and you needed a horse, what
in hell were you supposed to do? Billy Vail had said that that came under the
heading of the fourteenth paragraph of the federal marshals' directive, which
said that a marshal should be resourceful and conserving of government
property and expense. That a marshal should use his intelligence in all cases
that proved to be the exception to ordinary situations, and take prudent
actions to bring matters back to where they could be managed by approved and
regulated methods. Longarm had wanted to know what in hell that meant. Billy
Vail had said, "It means you ain't supposed to let yourself get afoot unless
you are near a government facility where you can get a remount." Longarm had
still wanted to know what you were supposed to do if you were afoot and there
was no government facility available. Billy Vail had growled and said, "Then
you better be a helluva horse trader or you are gonna be money out of pocket."

It made Longarm smile to himself. He wished to hell he was back in
Denver, sitting with Billy, eating a big steak and perhaps looking forward to
a visit that night with that lady who ran the dress shop.

Now she was a woman he could have used to distract himself the night he
was lying in the little wash. But he stopped himself. He still had too much
trail left before he could let himself start thinking like that.

He was hungry that night. He calculated he'd eaten exactly two meals in
the past three or four days, and neither of them had been much to get excited
about. Outside, in the corral, the horses nickered occasionally. He knew
they weren't calling to other horses; probably asking where the groceries
were. Longarm wondered the same thing himself. He'd made his bed in front of
the fireplace, and it was still burning enough to throw rosy glows against the
walls of the cabin.

Longarm had set his mind to wake up in about four or five hours. Since
he knew where he was headed, he could travel in the dark. it would be a lot
easier on the horses. With any luck he could reach Benson and get them some
feed not too long after daylight.

Chapter 10

In the end he had to feed the coffee to the horses out of his hat. It
didn't much matter since the hat was pretty well gone anyway. But it did
irritate him that he'd have to spend a few minutes and use one of his shirts
to wipe the thing out after the horses got through drooling and slopping
around inside the crown.

Fortunately, both horses liked the coffee. He gave them each about a
quart. By the time he was ready to break trail, they both seemed to have a
good deal more energy. As he was saddling up he had to smile, remembering the
young deputy marshal he'd told about the coffee trick.

The young man had come back to him a few weeks later as reproachful as a
Sunday School teacher. He'd told Longarm that just because he was young and
inexperienced wasn't any reason to play such a mean prank on him. Longarm had
been puzzled until the young deputy had said, "Hell, Longarm, that damn horse
spit and spewed coffee all over me. Like to have burned a brand-new
five-dollar shirt off my back, to say nothin' of what it done to my bare
skin."

Longarm had stared at him a long time, too dumbfounded to say a word. He
could not believe that the young man had tried to give hot coffee to his
horse. When he'd finally asked about it, the young deputy had said, "Why,
hell, yes. That's the way I take it. What'd you want me to do, saucer and
blow it fer him?"

As Longarm finally set out, both horses were feeling lively from the cold
night weather. He figured they'd have different thoughts once the sun began
its work. He'd saddled the smaller horse, a black with two white stocking
feet. It was not quite four o'clock when he got them headed toward the
southwest, steering by different stars he knew but didn't know the names of.
The only one he could ever recall was the North Star.

By the time dawn arrived, he didn't know how far they'd come--maybe ten
miles--but the little black was surprising him by his endurance. He'd
expected the horse to play out fairly quickly, but the animal moved right
along. Still, to be certain and to play it safe, he switched horses about
seven o'clock and rode the roan the rest of the way into Benson.

It was a slow trip. It took them six hours to make what he guessed was
about twenty-five miles. Still, he arrived with both horses.

Benson was an ugly little weatherbeaten town with a population of around
two thousand and five times as many saloons as churches. Half the town
appeared to be Mexican, and there was only one discernible street, though
there were wagon-track trails leading off in every direction. The downtown
buildings were mostly frame, looking worn and colorless as a result of the sun
and the sand and the wind. Longarm had been conscious that the land was
descending gradually all the way from the line cabin. By the time he reached
the border at Douglas, it should have dropped two or three thousand feet in
elevation. It made for easier breathing by both man and beast.

He rode into the town on the main street, noting with satisfaction that
they had at least two cafes. There was also a ramshackle hotel and a few
boardinghouses and, he was glad to see, a livery stable. Most of the
residences, either in town or on the outskirts looked to be adobe, with only
the bigger ones being constructed of lumber or brick. He turned in at the
livery stable and had both horses seen to. He was desperate to get himself to
a cafe and get some food in his own belly, but he stayed at the stable and
supervised the graining of his horses. He wanted to make sure the horses got
their fill, but he didn't want them eating too much at one time. Even though
he was into Benson early enough to rest up and then push on, he saw no real
reason for hurry. Shaw was where he was going if that was where he was going.
Hurry now was pointless. He and the horses could both use a rest before he
pushed on for the last fifty miles to Douglas. He had harbored some hope that
there was a railroad line to Douglas, but that was not the case. There was an
east-west track through town, but not one running north-south. A train went
west to Tucson and east into New Mexico, but nothing was going where he wanted
to go.

When he was satisfied his horses had been attended to, he took himself
down to the nearest cafe and ordered steak and eggs. The steak was stringy
and tough, and the eggs weren't cooked the way he liked them, with the yokes
liquid, but he cleaned his plate and then ordered the same thing again. While
he waited, he ate a half a dozen biscuits with butter and honey and drank
three cups of coffee, putting as much sugar in it as he liked.

Finally, feeling as if he had regained some lost ground, he left the cafe
and went looking for the sheriff's office. The sheriff, an older, grizzled
man with a drooping mustache, stared at him in some amazement.

He said, "Marshal, do I hear you right? You are askin' me if I seen a
stranger, a white man, passin' through who woulda been ridin' one horse an'
leadin' a extry? That right?"

Longarm nodded.

The sheriff leaned back in his chair. "Not more'n half a dozen. "Less
he was wearin' spangles or pink tights, I can't he'p you a bit. And no, 'bout
the other question, I don't know no Jack Shaw. Heered of him, but never met
the sucker, I'm right glad to say."

Longarm thanked the sheriff, and then went down and got a room at the
run-down-looking hotel. He was going to have a sleep in a real bed even if it
didn't amount to much more than a nap.

After that he went looking around the livery stable to see what kind of
horses they had for sale. He didn't see anything that looked much better than
what he had. The man at the livery stable told him there was a horse trader
out a mile, but Longarm decided he'd save that for later.

Right then he wanted a drink and he wanted it in a glass and in a saloon.
He also wanted a couple of beers to go with it. He wanted to sit in a cool,
dim saloon for about two hours and have a few quiet drinks and rest his spirit
as best he could. It had been a hard assignment that had taken longer than
he'd thought, and was not having anywhere near as good a result as he'd
expected.

He stopped in at a general mercantile store and considered buying another
rifle. In the end all he purchased was a box of cartridges for his pistol.
Jack Shaw had his rifle, and he intended on getting it back. He was used to
that rifle, and it was a weapon that had seen him through some tight places.
He was damned if he was going to lay out forty-five dollars for another one
when his was only half a hundred miles from him. Besides, he didn't think the
showdown with Shaw was going to take place at long range. He wanted the man
alive, and that didn't call for rifle work. What he wanted the most was to
get close enough to get his hands on Shaw. The man had caused him
considerable trouble, and he had every intention of beating the billy blue
hell out of him.

Longarm went to bed at about two o'clock in the afternoon, and slept
until eight that night. He got up and ate a big supper at the same cafe, and
then came back and went to sleep again, and slept until a little after one in
the morning. Sitting, yawning, and still groggy, he forced himself to his
feet and went sleepily down to the livery stable, his saddlebags over his
shoulder. He woke the night man, who helped him rig up, and then was on his
way by two o'clock in the morning. He would have at least five hours of cool
traveling during the night before the blazing sun got up enough to do real
damage.

Fortunately, there was a stage and wagon road to Douglas, so he didn't
have to go cross-country over the rough, barren terrain which seemed capable
only of supporting sand and rocks and where every growing thing seemed
compelled to armor itself in stickers or thorns.

He was riding the roan and leading the little black. He had not been
satisfied with any trade he could make, either with the quality of the
horseflesh or the price of the animal. In the end he'd decided to try to make
it on the two he had left. Both seemed to have benefitted by the day of rest
and the feed.

It wasn't as cold as it had been up on the high prairie. Still, Longarm
could see his breath and the breath of the horses as he left the dark town
behind and set out on his trip.

He figured to travel for six hours and then look for a place to lay up
during the hottest part of the day. After that, if the horses were up to it,
he intended to push on for Douglas, hoping to arrive sometime in the early
night hours. The biggest problem was that there was no water on the way. He
was carrying enough for himself, of course, but the horses would have to make
it through again dry. As weakened as they were, it was not a situation he
much relished. The livery man had said he might get lucky and run across a
freighter who'd have a barrel of water for his own stock and who might let
Longarm refresh his stock for a price. Other than that, he'd found no way to
carry water that wouldn't defeat its own purpose by being more of a load than
it was worth. Most riders heading to Douglas were riding fresh, rested, and
well-fed animals who were strong enough for the task, and the travelers pushed
straight on through, making the fifty-mile jump in one stretch.

And a man could do that if he had a horse capable of sustaining seven or
eight miles an hour, but Longarm was afraid to push his mounts at a pace much
faster than a man could walk.

At least there was the road. As the moon commenced to get down and it
got darker and darker, Longarm was more and more grateful for the rough but
recognizable road. He would have hated to be traveling without one across
such rough country in such darkness. It was a quick way to break a horse's
leg.

He had restocked his whiskey and cigars, and as he rode along he would,
from time to time, turn in the saddle and fetch out a bottle of whiskey. Of
course he hadn't been able to find any of his Maryland whiskey in such an
outpost as Benson, but the pop-skull he'd obtained would make you just as
drunk and leave you with just as bad a head the next morning. But he was
drinking purely for medicinal purposes, to ward off the cold.

As he rode, he deliberately did not let himself dwell on Jack Shaw, or
try and imagine what the situation might be that he would have to face when he
finally ran the man to ground. He'd learned the hard way not to scale
mountains or swim rivers until you got to them. You could visualize what a
situation was going to be, make plans to overcome it, and then find out all
your imagination had been for naught when you finally got to the scene and
found it was nothing like you'd expected.

He'd just handle the situation, whatever it might be, when he got to it.

Dawn took a long time to arrive, and Longarm was thoroughly tired of the
unchanging dark as they plodded through it. He wondered if Shaw was using the
night cover to cross over from the U.S. to his ranch in Mexico. Maybe he'd
already made the crossing. Longarm didn't know and didn't care. All of that
could wait until they met. At least now, he wouldn't be burdened by trying to
find out where Shaw had hidden the money. But in many ways, he wished he
hadn't found out. It made him feel like a damn fool. He remembered with a
twinge how Shaw had been so eager to fill the water bags from the pipe and
fill the coffeepot. He hadn't wanted Longarm anywhere near that barrel. And
yet Longarm had drunk from that pipe, but he'd never thought to poke around in
the dark water of the barrel. Well, it was all just as well. Longarm had
been needing a good bringing down for some time, and Shaw was doing a good job
of handling the task.

Finally it was good daylight. The road ahead and behind was empty.

Longarm would have to wait for several hours if he was to have any hope
of meeting a wagoneer who might have extra water to sell. He could see, by
looking behind him, that the terrain was continuin to slope downwards the
further south he went. It was ugly, bleak country, even less inviting than
the high prairie, which at least grew greasewood and bunchgrass. Nothing
appeared to grow in this desolate country except snakes and sagebrush and
spiders and cactus. Off to his left he could see a small range of mountains,
but he knew the jagged crests were at least fifty miles away, if not further.
He figured they were probably part of the Sierra Madre range in northern
Mexico.

It got to be eight in the morning. Since the sun had been up good,
Longarm had begun looking around for someplace to shelter during the heat of
the day. The only thing he'd seen had been some cactus about four feet tall.
There was no sign of a tree, much less a grove of trees. Naturally, there was
no sign of any kind of building. Why would anyone build a dwelling or a barn
or any other sort of structure in such a place? You couldn't grow a crop in
such a place, so you didn't need a farmhouse. And you damn sure couldn't
raise cattle or horses or even goats, so you didn't need a ranch headquarters.
He'd been an idiot to have expected to find shelter in such a terrain and
country. He should have let the horses rest all night and started about noon.
That way they would have only gotten six or seven hours of the worst of the
sun and he could have pushed on at night. But it was too late for such
thinking.

He kept on until nine and then ten, going slower and slower. He could
tell by the saliva flecking around the bit of the roan that the horse badly
needed water. Dry spit was a bad sign in a horse.

An hour later, with no sign of shelter and no sign of a wagon, either
coming or going, Longarm had about reached the decision to stop and rest the
horses, shade or no shade, when he felt the first tremor between his legs. He
did not hesitate. He immediately pulled the roan to a halt and leapt to the
ground. But even in that short a time the horse was already beginning to
shake all over. Longarm had seen it before, and it was a sight he hated. As
quickly as he could, he undid the saddle cinch and let it swing free below the
horse's belly. By now the horse had spraddled out his legs in an effort to
stay erect.

Longarm took his pocketknife out and opened it. He felt for the vein at
the front of the horse's neck, and then made a quick slash with his knife.

He had tried it only once before and it hadn't worked then, but he was
willing to make any effort because, if he didn't, the outcome was a foregone
conclusion. The theory was that opening a vein and allowing the horse to
bleed a little cooled the animal down. At least that was what the old-timers
said. He stood back, watching the blood running down the animal's neck and
dripping on the ground. The smell frightened the black, and he started
running back and forth at the end of his lead rope, neighing uncertainly.

Longarm watched. For a second he thought the roan might be getting
better, but then the horse started staggering sideways--the blind staggers,
they called it--and then he seemed to sigh and sink down by the hindquarters.
Before it could get caught under the collapsing horse, Longarm reached out,
grabbed his saddle, and jerked it off the animal's back. He stepped aside as
the horse slowly crumpled to the ground, landing on his belly as Longarm's
foundered animal had. He didn't stay backside-up long. Little by little he
leaned over until he toppled onto his left side. He twitched once, and then
was still.

Longarm cursed. He cursed for two or three minutes straight. He'd
ridden other horses to death, and would probably ride others to death in the
future, but he'd always hated it and would continue to hate it even though, in
all cases, he'd never really had much choice. This horse had been misused, by
himself and by others before him. The poor animal had never had a chance to
recover from the nearly two weeks of bad treatment and hard usage he'd
undergone. It was criminal to take horses into country where they couldn't
get feed and water, but unfortunately, the men Longarm was usually chasing
were already criminals, and a horse here or there didn't make a damn bit of
difference to them.

In the end there was nothing left to do except take his bridle off the
roan and put it on the black. He could see that the black had a mouth full of
dry spittle also. He wouldn't last long if Longarm kept riding.

The roan had fallen off the road. As Longarm saddled the black and
adjusted his saddlebags and tied them in place, he looked down at the animal.
Overhead the buzzards were already starting to circle. At least the horse
wouldn't be a complete waste. The buzzards and coyotes would see to that.

It made no sense to stop. It was just as hot standing as it was moving.
But Longarm figured he could at least spare the black the extra effort of his
weight. He took one of the two water bags he had, poured as much in his hat
as he could, and let the horse drink what he could get down. It wasn't much,
and he spilled as much as he drank.

Longarm had about two gallons of water, and a horse could sweat five
gallons in an hour, more under such a sun. A horse couldn't really carry
enough water on his back to satisfy his own needs. It was an odd thing to
think about, but it was true. Longarm had seen the proof of it many times.

It was warm work, walking down the uneven road in his high-heeled boots.
But there was no help for it. The next time he lost a horse he would be
afoot. Even not riding, he glanced back anxiously from time to time to see
how the black was doing. The horse was covered with lines of dried sweat all
over his glistening black hide. The glistening was caused by fresh sweat and
not good health. But at least, Longarm reflected, he still had enough water
in him to sweat.

Longarm didn't know how far he had walked, but he knew it was approaching
one o'clock when he and the horse topped a little rise in the road and he saw,
in the distance, a small line of three wagons. He stopped and shaded his
eyes, peering through the shimmering heat waves.

It was a long moment before he was able to discern that the wagons were
heading his way. Only then did he allow himself a drink of water.

Once again he filled the crown of his hat with the liquid and let the
black snuffle around in it. He said to the horse, "Maybe, when them wagons
get here, we can get some of this stuff in your belly."

He rode into Douglas at a little past seven o'clock. He had made the
trip in one day even though it had cost him a horse. When they arrived it was
difficult to say who was the most tired, Longarm or his remaining horse. He
went straight to a livery stable and had the black put up in a stall with
strict instructions on his watering and feeding.

He wanted the horse to eat hay before he ate anything else such as grain,
and he made it clear to the stable hands that he was fond of the animal and
that he was a federal marshal, and that it would be in their best interests to
give the animal the best care they knew how. He didn't come out and say it,
but he conveyed the impression the best he could that he would arrest the lot
of them if anything happened to the horse.

After that, he went down to a hotel and got a room and ordered up a bath.
When it came he sat in the tub, ordering the Mexican boys who were fetching
the hot water to "keep it coming and make damn sure it's hot." After he had
washed for a while, he fetched a basin over to the tub and shaved while he was
soaking in the hot water. The parts of him that weren't still sore from
lifting the roof were tired and sore from walking the two or three miles he'd
trod along in his high-heeled boots. His feet felt like they had blisters all
over them, but fortunately, the unaccustomed activity hadn't gone on long
enough to produce any serious harm. His feet were just sore.

Once he'd seen the wagons, he and the black had stood there by the side
of the road and let the freighters come to them. They had had water for his
horse, and had even sold him some grain mixed with shelled corn to give the
animal something solid for his stomach. The feed and the water had revived
the black enough so that they had stepped along and made Douglas without
camping. Longarm was starting to have a real respect for the tough little
animal. He hadn't looked like much, but he was proving to have a lot of
bottom.

Once he'd gotten about four layers of dirt and a week's worth of whiskers
off him, Longarm rustled around in his saddlebags and found a clean shirt and
socks, and even a pair of jeans he'd only worn for two or three days--and that
had been in town. They were nearly as good as new. After he'd changed
clothes and combed his hair, despairing of his hat, he went downstairs and ate
in the hotel dining room. Douglas was a border town and border towns, Longarm
knew, were pretty much the same from the tip of Texas all the way up the line
to California. In a border town you were neither in the United States or
Mexico. You were in a border town, and there wasn't any other way to describe
it.

He had beef stew and biscuits for supper that night, and he ate until he
was full. After that he sought out the best of the saloons, and drank some
brandy and played a little poker. He'd put his badge in his pocket, so the
other players treated him like an ordinary citizen and managed to win twenty
dollars off him. He didn't much care. It was pleasant to sit and do
something besides chase bandits over barren country. He had no intention of
keeping on to Aqua Prieta that night, even though it was only about a half
mile away. Shaw could wait. Either he'd be there the next day or he
wouldn't. All Longarm knew was that he was going to sleep all night in a bed.
He went down and checked on the black, and then he went to his hotel room.
He'd bought a bottle of brandy, and he intended to bite off a piece of that
and then wear the bed out.

The next morning he had breakfast, and then mounted the black and rode on
over to Aqua Prieta. It was difficult to tell when you passed from the U.S.
into Mexico since the country didn't change at all and Aqua Prieta just looked
like a poor section of Douglas. The only marker was a shack with a uniformed
guard slumped inside, drinking something out of a bottle. There was a post
with a sign on it that said, "Bienvenudos a Mexico."

"Welcome to Mexico." That, Longarm thought, was a laugh. The only thing
welcome in Mexico was your dollars, and they'd have been just as happy if
you'd mailed the money across or wrapped it around a rock and chunked it.
Still, Longarm in the main liked Mexico. He liked the peones, the campesinos,
the vaqueros, the working people of the country. He found them, even as poor
as Job's turkey, to be serious, dignified, and courteous to a fault. They
were a proud people, even in their poverty, and strictly honest. It was said
in Mexico that you could leave a roasted pig in the middle of a plaza and
unless a rico, a rich man, or a politico, which was one and the same, came by,
the pig would be there the next day. Longarm had always thought it was a good
story, but he'd doubted he'd much care for pig, roasted or not, after it had
been sitting out in the Mexican sun for a couple of days.

Once into Aqua Prieta, he tied his horse in front of a cantina and got a
beer and began in his poor Spanish, asking about the ranchero of el pistolero
gringo. The third man he asked knew, or seemed to know, who he was talking
about. The man said he was a farmer, a campesino, and described Jack Shaw
even to the birthmark. Longarm's informant, who was a sun-dried little peon
wearing white pants tied at the ankle and a wool poncho over his white shirt,
said that Shaw lived on a large hacienda about two miles to the west and south
of town. Longarm asked the man if he would be willing to show him to the
hacienda in return for a little gift for his family, a little gift of money.
You never, Longarm knew, wanted to insult a proud man, no matter how poor he
was, by trying to give him money for an errand he would consider a duty and an
honor to do for a stranger.

It was all right, however, to offer the gift of money for his family, his
wife and nifios. That was a perfectly acceptable gesture.

The man rode a small mule without a saddle. Longarm had to slow the
black to his pace. A little way out of town Longarm could see immediately
what Shaw had meant about being able to spot anyone coming from a long way
off. Except for groves of ash and mountain pine and mesquite that were
sparsely scattered about, the land was flat and mainly uninhabited, though a
few small farms were struggling to grow little patches of corn.

Longarm was almost certain he recognized Shaw's place even before the
little Mexican said anything. He pulled up the black and pointed at a big
adobe building at least a mile in the distance but looking closer because of
the thin air. "Es este por el senor gringo del pistoles?"

"Does this belong to the American with the pistols?"

"Si."

"Seguro?"

"For sure?"

"Si."

Longarm dismounted and stood behind the black. He reached into his near
saddlebag and took out his telescope. With the naked eye he could see a few
figures moving around the hacienda, but he couldn't make out who or what they
were. With the campesino watching him curiously, he extended the telescope
and put it to his eye. The scene instantly jumped much closer. He could see
that the big adobe ranch house had once been whitewashed, but sand and wind
had combined to turn it into a very pale tan. It looked to be a residence of
at least six rooms. Longarm was able to get a fair idea of its inside size by
the number of round ceiling beams that stuck out through the outer walls. It
had a roof made of red clay tiles. There was a front courtyard that was
bounded by a low wall. Behind the house were several small frame buildings
that Longarm took to be a stable and two or three sheds that were most likely
used for storage. He turned his glass one after another on the several
figures. There were two behind the house, working around the sheds, and one
man just outside the front of the dwelling standing in the courtyard who was
cut off at the hips by the low wall. The two figures in the back were clearly
Mexican laborers. As near as Longarm could see they were not wearing guns.
He swung the glass around to the man in the front. As he brought the figure
into focus the man turned and took a step back onto the front patio and then
disappeared.

Longarm had only gotten a quick look, but there was no mistaking that
appearance. It was Shaw, all right. Nobody else could look quite as cocky
just standing in their front yard as Jack Shaw.

Longarm closed the spyglass and put it thoughtfully back into his
saddlebag. The house was going to be very difficult to approach.

There were no bars on the windows, but the house was surrounded by flat,
cleared land on all sides for a distance of at least two hundred yards.
Anybody either trying to walk up or ride up to that house was going to be
exposed for a long time and a long way. For a moment Longarm leaned his arms
on the dish of his saddle and stared across the way at the hacienda. There
was a small grove of mountain pine on the side toward the road, the side that
Longarm was viewing the house from. The pines wern't very tall, no more than
ten or twelve feet, but they were thick and the copse was a good forty yards
wide. A man could ride down the road past the house and then, with the pines
blocking the view from the house, make a dash into the little grove and hide.
The only problem with that was that it still left you four hundred yards from
the hacienda. If Shaw had a guard posted, anyone trying to slip up to the
place would be spotted whether the guard was any good or not. But then,
Longarm thought, why should Shaw post a guard? He was in Mexico. He was
safe. The danger was north, in Arizona Territory. He had nothing to fear
from the gringo law. They couldn't operate in Mexico.

No, they couldn't. Not if they played by the rules. But then, Longarm
had no intention of playing by the rules. He had just seen the man who had
damaged his reputation with the Marshals Service, and he did not intend that
Shaw would get away with it.

He mounted and turned his horse for Aqua Prieta. The little campesino
was looking at him questioningly. "Esta bueno?"
Longarm shook his head. He said, "Es no mi amigo. Es un otro hombre."

"It is not my friend. It is some other man."

"Aaah," the campesino said. "Es malo suerte."

"Si," Longarm said in agreement. It was bad luck, but he didn't say for
whom.

As they rode back Longarm studied the problem, turning it over and over
in his mind. If he had any sense he'd simply set up watch on the place and
bide his time until Shaw ventured out to town or someplace else. Then he'd be
easy to take. Find a hiding place on his route and jump out and throw down on
him.

Except Longarm wasn't in a waiting mood. He'd been on the trail too
long. He'd been sleepy and thirsty and hungry for a lot longer than he cared
for. Besides, there were several lady friends of his that he had been
depriving too long. No, he was going to settle Jack Shaw within twenty-four
hours or know the reason why.

He had, of course, lied to the campesino about it being the wrong man at
the wrong ranch. Even though he wasn't wearing his badge, he didn't want it
getting about that there was a gringo looking for the pistolero gringo. This
way no one was the wiser. Longarm gave the little Mexican a five-dollar gold
piece, which made the man's eyes get big in his head. Probably it was the
most money he had ever held in his hand at one time. Jack Shaw had finally
been a benefactor to a community that he lived in. That five dollars would
buy an awful lot of beans and tortillas and fill a lot of empty bellies.
Longarm wanted to be sure and remember to tell Shaw what good works he'd
caused to be done in his name. Longarm had the feeling, though, that Shaw
wasn't going to be all that interested.

When they got back to town, Longarm put his horse back in the stable, and
then found a sort of cafe where he had a meal of huevos rancheros: eggs with
chili sauce and cheese. It was not eaten with a utensil but with a rolled-up
flour tortilla that you used as a kind of scoop. He thought it was the best
meal he'd had since he'd left Denver. After he'd eaten, he went to a kind of
little inn and rented a room. He intended to sleep through the afternoon, and
then arise about six and go to making his preparations for that night.

Chapter 11

In the evening he bought a striped, many-colored wool poncho that would
go over his head and hang off his shoulders nearly to his knees. It was too
heavy to wear during the day, although he saw plenty of the Mexicans wearing
ponchos, but it would be welcome during the long, cold night. He also bought
a very wide-brimmed straw sombrero with a conical crown. The sombrero was not
for comfort but for deception. He also went to the livery stable and arranged
to rent a mule along with one of the uncomfortable wooden saddles that they
used.

When it was about eight o'clock, he went back to the little cafe and had
some beans, rice, and corn tortillas and drank some more of the green beer.
It was so bad he finally decided that the fault must lie with him. No one
could make something that bad and expect the public to buy it. He'd heard of
"shotgun whiskey," moonshine that was so bad you had to hire a man to hold a
shotgun on you to force you to drink it, but the only thing to recommend the
beer was how cheap it was, about a penny a glass. Still, even at that price,
Longarm didn't think it was much of a bargain.

He was diverting himself with different thoughts, a method he often used
to keep himself from getting worked up too soon about a particularly important
piece of business.

After supper he strolled around in the night air, wearing his poncho,
taking in the sights of the town. Except for one cantina where it sounded as
if things were getting pretty lively, the town was dead quiet. There was an
establishment that Longarm felt pretty sure was a whorehouse. He gave it some
thought, but decided that it might take a little of his edge off and he
figured to need all the alertness he could get. At about ten o'clock he went
to the little inn and turned in fully clothed. He knew, with the nap he'd
taken that afternoon, that he was not likely to sleep more than four or five
hours.

It was about four in the morning when he went down to the livery and got
the mule, already saddled and bridled. He gave the night boy five pesos to
thank him for his trouble, and then swung into the wooden saddle. The thing
was as uncomfortable as it looked. It had been made for someone about half
his size and weight. The mule turned out to be a tough, cold-jawed little
brute who did not want to do night work.

Longarm had to battle him around the town a couple of circuits before the
mule finally got it into his head that only one of them was going to decide
which direction they went and when.

When he finally had the mule lined out, Longarm started them south for
the edge of town and the fork in the road that ran west and would take him by
Shaw's place. It was a very dark night, one that Longarm thought that Shaw
would have appreciated. He reckoned it to be not much more than an hour
before dawn. He calculated he wouldn't have too long a wait.

They reached the fork in the road, and Longarm turned the mule west. He
was riding with his legs hanging down, not using the stirrups. He had his
straw sombrero on, tilted forward as he had seen the Mexicans wear theirs. He
was wearing his poncho, and he was riding slumped in the saddle to minimize
his size. Of course a close observer would have seen his high-heeled boots
and figured him not to be a Mexican, but he didn't think there were any close
observers out that night. All he wanted to do was blend in as best he could
with the country, not cause any notice to anyone who might have been up at
that hour.

In the darkness ahead he could see the grove of pines. It was about
forty or fifty yards off the road, on the left. Longarm aimed the mule
slightly off the road, heading toward the edge of the copse. As he came near
it, as it slowly grew in size and began to block out the hacienda, Longarm
slowly pulled the mule up. The pine grove was about ten yards to his left.
He was hidden from view by the trees. He raised his right leg over the mule's
neck and vaulted out of the saddle and to the ground. The mule paused, but
Longarm gave him a slap on the rump and the animal started and went off,
switching his tail, making it plain he was irritated. He was a stable mule,
spoiled like stable horses. Longarm watched while the mule went on down the
road a few hundred yards. Then, as if he'd suddenly realized he wasn't being
ridden any longer, the mule stopped. He looked over his shoulder. He didn't
know what had happened, but he knew it was to his advantage.

Longarm saw the mule turn and then head back down the road at a trot. He
was heading back to his stable, the warm place where they kept the hay and the
feed. Longarm watched until the mule disappeared into the darkness, and then
carefully entered the grove.

He squatted at the south side of the copse, carefully watching the ranch
house and waiting for signs of light. He had not wanted to keep the mule with
him in the trees for fear the animal might start calling to horses at Shaw's
place. Mules were a good deal smarter than horses, and demons for causing
trouble when none was called for. He'd been pretty certain that the mule
would head back to the stable, but it hadn't much mattered to him if it did or
not. So far as getting back to town was concerned, Longarm figured that Jack
Shaw would lend him a horse. Either that or he wasn't going to need one.
Longarm had no illusions that Shaw would be an easy target. But he was
determined that the man was going to be his prisoner or a corpse in a short
while.

He did not intend to give Shaw any sort of a chance. Ideally, he would
like to catch Shaw as Shaw had him, in bed and asleep. But he doubted that
would be the case. Longarm didn't want to work in the dark in strange
country, and he expected that once the sun was up, Shaw would be too.

He could see that there were three windows on the side of the house
facing his way. He intended to head for a space between the second and third
window. More than likely, if Shaw slept on that side of the house, his
bedroom would be in the back.

it was cold. Longarm had his arms huddled inside the poncho, hugging
himself. He had his revolver stuck down in his waistband, not wanting to wear
his gunbelt. You didn't often see a campesino wearing a gunbelt, much less
boots, and that was what Longarm was trying to pass as, at least in a bad
light.

And then he saw a little flush of pink begin in the eastern sky. He
didn't hesitate. In one motion he was on his feet and moving toward the
house. He kept his arms inside the poncho, his right hand on the butt of his
revolver. He walked unsteadily, which was not difficult in high-heeled boots
over the rough ground, trying to give the impression of a drunk just
staggering home.

From under the brim of the big sombrero he saw the base of the house loom
up. He lifted his head just enough to make sure of his direction, and
staggered on. Within a few steps he was at the side of Shaw's ranch house.
He dropped down, closer to the third window than the second. He hoped they
would light candles or kerosene lamps inside. It would be a sign to him that
people were up and moving around. He doubted he'd be able to hear through the
thick walls if they just started talking to each other.

As the sun began to get up and light slowly drove off the last gray of
dawn, he looked down the line at the outbuildings. What he'd taken for a
stable was obviously a bunkhouse of some kind because it had a chimney
sticking up and, even as Longarm watched, a thin wisp of smoke began to rise.
There was no one moving around, at least not yet, but he knew it was only a
matter of moments and he knew how exposed he was.

He was taking a terrible gamble that the men on Shaw's place were just
peones and not pistoleros. But then, he couldn't see what Shaw would want
with Mexican gunmen. Mexico was his refuge, his hideout. He wouldn't need
men on the place to protect it and him.

To his right he saw a glow from the second window. He was on the point
of crawling that way when he heard a voice to his right, from the third
window. He turned back. Almost as he did, a light began casting shadows
through the window on the ground. He turned back and inched his way up to the
window, taking off his hat as he did. He edged an eye over the window sill
and looked in. The room was alight with rays from a kerosene lantern. As he
got a view of the room he saw that it was a bedroom, and then he saw the bed,
and then he saw Shaw sitting up in the bed. Shaw had his legs under the
covers, but Longarm could see that he was wearing the bottoms of a set of long
underwear. He was bare-chested. Longarm could see that the outlaw was
talking to someone across the room out of view of the window. Then, as
Longarm looked, a beautiful naked Mexican girl came into his line of sight.
She walked to the edge of Shaw's bed, put her hand on the foot-post of the
bed, and listened to something Shaw was saying. Longarm judged her to be
about twenty or twenty-one, and he could see that Shaw hadn't lied about her
looks if she was one of the two he'd been talking about.

But he had no time to look at the girl. He suddenly realized he couldn't
let her get any closer to Shaw. If she got in bed with him or sat down beside
him, she'd interfere with his field of fire. He knew he was going to have to
act immediately. There were no curtains on the window, and for that Longarm
was thankful. The window was split into four panes, separated by pieces of
wood. Longarm didn't hesitate. He drew back his arm and smashed out the
bottom two panes with his pistol.

As quick as he could he shoved his hand and arm into the room, cocking
the hammer of his revolver. He yelled, "Shaw! Freeze! Don't move, dammit!"

He saw Shaw react instantly, sliding sideways off the bed and
disappearing out of sight. The girl had looked Longarm's way, and was staring
at him with big, dark, luminous eyes. He yelled again. "Shaw! Give up!"

Just beyond the girl he could see another window on the other side of the
room. At the instant he was expecting Shaw to come up from beside the bed
with a gun in his hand, the outlaw came up behind the girl.

Longarm searched for a shot. He yelled, "Shaw, give up, dammit! You
can't get out!"

Then he heard the sound of glass breaking and saw legs and feet as Shaw
dove through the broken window. Longarm got up, cursing, and ran to the end
of the house. He didn't know if Shaw had armed himself or not. He hesitated
for a second, and then peered around the back corner of the house. He saw
Shaw suddenly come running out through some door or gate at the back of a kind
of courtyard. Longarm yelled, "Shaw!" He stepped out into the open. But
before he could fire, Shaw suddenly jerked open the door to a small shed and
jumped inside. Longarm had not seen a gun in his hand, but he'd had only a
fraction of a second before Shaw had disappeared. Crouched, his gun forward
and still cocked, Longarm advanced toward the little shed. He figured for
certain that Shaw must have gone in the hut to get a gun of some kind. He
wished there was more shelter.

Out of the corner of his right eye he saw a face and head poke out the
door of what he'd decided was someone's living quarters or a bunkhouse of some
kind. He turned his revolver in that direction and the head disappeared.

He stopped about five yards short of the shed. He crouched down and
said, "Jack, you are in there and I know it. I can see all around that little
chicken coop. Now you come out or I am gonna go to testing that wood you are
hiding behind and see how thick it is. I don't think it will stop a bullet,
Jack."

For a moment he didn't think he was going to get a response, but then
Shaw said, "Longarm? What in hell are you doing here? This is Mexico!"

"I know that, Jack. I came to get you. Figured you got lost somehow."

Shaw's voice was bewildered. "You can't take me, Longarm. This is
Mexico. What the hell is the matter with you?"

"I know it's Mexico, Jack. And you know it IS. And you can complain to
the authorities when I take you back to Arizona. They might turn you loose."

There was a half a moment of silence. Shaw said finally, "Aw, hell,
Longarm, why don't you forget about me. Let it go."

"You know that ain't gonna happen, Jack. And this time I'm going to have
to get the money and take it back."

Shaw laughed. "That's still got your back up, don't it, Custis. That I
lied to you about the money."

"Jack, you better come on out. One of these Mexicans is liable to get
brave and you wouldn't want that on your conscience."

"According to you I ain't got one. What you got in mind, Longarm?"

"I got Arizona in mind."

"I thought we was going to New Mexico."

"I done tried that. You didn't want to go to New Mexico. You run off."

There was a silence. "Longarm, they liable to hang me in Arizona."

"That ain't none of my affair, Jack. Like I say, I just catch 'em."

"I hear they tie your hands behind your back when they hang you. I
couldn't stand that."
Longarm said, "I understand you ain't got long to worry about it, Jack.
Now listen, I'm getting worried about you out in this cold with nothing on but
the bottoms to your long handles. I reckon I'm going to have to test those
walls, Jack." He got up and eased around to his left so he could see what was
behind the shed. There was nothing. He took a few steps to his right. The
shed was a dead end if you were inside.

Shaw said, "I hear they hold you pretty tight when you are waiting to be
hung. I hear they pen you up pretty good in a tight little cell."

"You ought not to pay so much attention to what you hear, Jack. You
coming out or not?"

There was a pause. "No deal on New Mexico, Longarm? It ain't ten miles
to the territory line."

"Not again, Jack. Naw, I reckon it'll have to be Arizona."

Shaw laughed. "I don't reckon you'd put them same manacles back on me,
would you, Custis?"

"Never can tell. Got about another half minute, Jack. I'm getting
nervous."

A few beats passed, and then the door of the shed flew open and Jack Shaw
came charging straight for Longarm. He had something black in his right hand.
Longarm yelled, "Stop! Hands up!"

Shaw did not pause. He kept coming. In an instant he was within two
strides of Longarm. Almost sorrowfully, Longarm aimed and pulled the trigger.
His revolver boomed and Shaw stopped as if grabbed by a giant hand and then
went backwards; he staggered and then fell on his back.

Longarm walked cautiously to his side, cocking his revolver as he did.
Shaw looked up. There was a slight grin on his face. He lifted his right
hand. He was holding a piece of kindling wood, blackened from a fire. Shaw
said, as the stick fell out of his hand, "Fooled you, Custis. Made you
shoot."

Longarm knelt by him. There was a hole on the right side of his chest.
Little bubbles of pink froth churned around it. He was lung-shot.

Longarm grimaced. He said, "I thought you said you wouldn't do it this
way, Jack. When I was telling you about it, you said it wasn't for you."
Shaw coughed. He said, his voice growing faint and hoarse, "Wasn't no
guilt involved, Custis. Want you to un'nerstan' that. No guilt. Couldn't
take the idea of bein' pent up, Custis. Un'erstan'?"

"I guess so, Jack."

"Ain't 'bout guilt or no guilty conscience."

"If you say so, Jack."

"You'd of had to bound my hands 'hind my back, Custis. Wouldn't you?"

Shaw's voice was getting weaker and he was starting to slur his words.

Longarm said, "I reckon so, Jack."

Shaw grinned. He said faintly, "I fooled you, Custis." He opened his
mouth to say something else; instead he coughed up a great gout of blood. His
body suddenly jerked and heaved. His eyes glazed over. He opened his mouth
again and then shut it. His body settled back.

Longarm reached over and closed his eyes. Then he stood up. As he
turned toward the house he saw the two Mexican women standing there. They had
wrapped themselves in blankets. Their eyes followed Longarm as he walked past
them and into the house. He had to find the money. That was his next job.

It was two nights later, and Longarm was sitting in a hotel room trying
to finish his report. In the morning he was going to take a train that would
get him into Phoenix. There he was going to turn over to Arizona authorities
the money he had recovered, along with a copy of his report that would give an
account of what had happened since the robbery. He had written it pretty much
as it had happened, including his deal with Jack Shaw to take the outlaw to
New Mexico Territory. The Arizona authorities could make of that what they
wanted. It was how it had happened and the way Longarm had seen to play it
for the best. If they wanted to judge him, that was their business. He was
damned if he would lie for anyone.

Except he couldn't finish the report. He had written everything up to
where Shaw had come out of the shed. He had written, "Culprit had taken
refuge in a small shed, refusing to surrender. Federal officer had warned
culprit shots would be fired through the thin walls of shed. Culprit had
thrown open door and charged officer. Culprit ..."

He had stopped at that point. He didn't want to write that Shaw had
charged him with a little burnt stick in his hand, forcing Longarm to shoot
him in that instant of uncertainty. Jack Shaw was a lot of things, had been a
lot of things, but he hadn't been a coward. He just couldn't stand the idea
of being pent up and killed by people he didn't know. He'd asked Longarm to
do the job. And maybe, even though he'd denied it, there had been some
repentance about what he'd done with his life, about some of the meanness he'd
shown. Hell, there was no use telling all of Jack's secrets. He couldn't do
any more harm. Might as well let him get away with his last little trick.

Longarm inked his pen and then wrote, "Culprit charged federal officer,
forcing officer to defend himself. Culprit Jack Shaw was killed by a single
bullet to the chest. He had no last words."

Longarm put down the pen and took up his glass of whiskey. He had a
drink, and then looked out the window at the dark. Jack might have made a
friend if he hadn't gotten confused, Longarm thought. But he at least
deserved to go out the way he wanted to. Longarm yawned. He was tired and
weary. He would be ready to get back to Denver and take it easy for a while.
Seemed like the rough life got harder every year.

He shook his head and finished his whiskey. He was going to sleep that
night.