He watched the figure leave the barn: sidestepping cautiously out of the deep shadow, facing the house with his drawn gun, but edging one step at a time toward the dim outline of the corn crib.
Don't give him a chance, Brady thought. But as his hand tightened on the trigger he called out, "Albie "
Albie fired. There was no hesitation, no indecision.
With the sound of his name, his gun hand swung across his body and fired and with the movement he was running, going down as he reached the corn crib.
Silence.
So you learn, Brady thought. But you don't make the same mistake twice. He stepped out past the corner of the stable bringing up the Colt and lining the barrel on the empty corn crib.
Three times in quick succession he aimed and fired, moving the Colt from right to left across the shape of the crib. The sounds clashed in the darkness: the heavy ring of the Colt, the ripping, whining of the bullets splintering the slats and with the third shot a howl of pain.
Brady moved quickly across the yard to the corner of the barn. He loaded the Colt, listening, watching the crib, then edged around the corner, dropped to his hands and knees and crept toward the crib. Albie was on his knees doubled over holding his arms tight to his stomach when Brady pressed the Colt into his back.
"Get up, Albie."
"I can't move." The words came out in short grunts.
"You're going to move one more time," Brady said.
He took Albie's gun then went quickly across to the house and called the girl's name. The door opened and he saw the relief in her eyes and saw her about to speak, but he said, "Albie's not going to last."
"Oh " He saw her bite her lower lip.
"Listen but maybe we can still use him." Brady spoke hurriedly, but quietly, telling her what to do: to hold Albie's gun on him and not move it even though he was doubled over with a bullet through his middle. And after that Brady ran to the barn. He went through it seeing only the cow, then out the rear door and across the wagon ruts into the trees. A dozen yards back in the pines he found their horses picketed with Albie's. He led them back to the barn and came out the front leading only Albie's.
The girl's eyes were open wide. "He's hurt terribly bad."
Brady said nothing. Albie screamed as Brady stooped and pulled him to his feet and made him mount the horse. Brady said then, "Listen to me.
We're giving you a chance. Go get some help. You hear me, go get Ed to take care of you." He slapped the horse's rump, jumped after it and slapped again and the horse broke into a gallop with Albie doubled over, his hands gripping the saddle horn and rounded the corner of the stable.
Taking the girl's hand, Brady led her through the house, opened the front door then stood in the doorway, his hand holding her arm.
"I don't understand," she said.
"Listen a minute." They could still hear Albie's horse, though faintly now in the distance. "Going straight across," Brady said. "Telling us where Mr.
Moak's waiting."
Chapter Six
Two to One Odds
Now think about it some more, Brady thought.
He was by the window again staring out at the masked, unmoving shapes in the darkness and hearing the small sounds of the girl who was in the kitchen, beyond the blanket that draped the doorway. Kitty. No Catherine Mary. Brady said Catherine Mary again to himself, listening to the sound of it in his mind.
All right, and what're the odds on calling her that tomorrow?
Two to one now. Getting better. But now what will they do? You know what you'll do, but what about them? Was Albie on his own? Maybe. Or part of a plan. Maybe. One of them is back in the trees and the other one's in front, across the meadow. Maybe.
Could you run for it now, both of you? Maybe. Or will Ed Moak run for it? Hell no. One, two, three, four maybe's and a hell no so the changing of the odds doesn't change your situation any. You still sit and wait. But now he knows you're not asleep.
He moved around the table to the side of the window and looked diagonally out across the yard.
The aspen stand showed ghostly gray lines and a mass of branches and beyond it, in the smoked light of part of a moon, the meadow was mist gray and had no end as it stretched to nothing.
"Will he die?" the girl asked. She had made no sound coming to stand close to him.
"I think he will," Brady said. The girl did not speak and he said then, "I didn't want to kill him. I wanted to shoot him. I mean I was trying to shoot him because I had to, but killing him or seeing him dead wasn't in my mind."
His eyes moved to her face. She was staring out at the night and Brady said, "You feel sorry for him now."
"I can't help it." Her voice was low and with little tone.
"Listen, I felt sorry for him when I put him on the horse. He was just a poor kid going to die and I didn't like it one bit but all the time I kept thinking, we're still in it. There's no time out for burying the dead and saying Our Fathers because Ed Moak is still here and knowing it is the only thing in the whole world that's important."
"Unless he's gone," the girl said.
"I just finished adding up the maybe's," Brady said. "You want to know how many there are?"
"I'm sorry."
"No, I shouldn't have said that."
She turned to him. "You remind me a lot of my older brother."
"I hope that's good."
She smiled. "I believe everybody likes Paul. He's never put on or anything."
"Yeah?" There was a silence before Brady said, "You know, I was thinking, you haven't once cried or carried on or you know, like you'd think a girl would."
"All girls don't act like that."
"I guess not." Brady said then, "You can learn a lot in a few hours, can't you?"
"Things that might've taken months," the girl said.
"Or years."
"It's funny, isn't it?"
"It's strange "
"That's what I mean."
Brady said, "I've been thinking about you more than about Ed Moak."
Her face was close to his, but now she looked out the window not knowing what to say.
"I didn't have any trouble telling you that,"
Brady said. "Which is something, for me."
She looked at him again, her face upturned calmly now and again close to his. "What is it you're telling me, Mr. Brady?"
"You know."
"I want to hear it."
"It would sound funny."
"That's all right."
He leaned closer and kissed her, holding her face gently between his hands. He kissed her again, hearing the soft sound of it and feeling the clinging response of her lips. His hands dropped to her waist as her arms went up and around his neck and they remained this way even after they had kissed, after his lips had brushed her cheek and whispered close to her ear.
"See?" "It didn't sound funny."
"What's your ma and dad going to say?"
"They'll say it's awful sudden."
"Will they object?"
"Mr. Brady, are you proposing?"
He smiled, leaning back to look at her. "That's what you call the natural thing, when you're proposing and don't even know you're doing it."
"Then you are."
"I guess so."
"Can you be sure," she said seriously, "knowing a person just a few hours?"
"We could wait if you want. Say about a week."
"Now you're fooling."
"Not very much."
Catherine Mary smiled now. "I think this has been the fastest moving day of my life."
"But the longest," Brady said. "And it's not even over yet." He saw her smile fade and again he remembered Ed Moak and the other man; he pictured them in the darkness, waiting and not speaking.