“He started low.” Renda grinned. He said then, “You better have a talk with Willis about his letter writing. I don’t want to hear any more about trying to get transferred.”
“If it bothers you,” Lizann said, “talk to him yourself.”
“Lizzy, I’m being nice about this. I don’t have to be.”
“What Willis does is no concern of mine,” Lizann said evenly. “I want to make that clear to you. As far as I’m concerned, Willis doesn’t exist. At one time I wanted him to leave here and I tried to persuade him with every argument I could think of. Willis was afraid to do anything-afraid for his life and afraid for what he chooses to call his career. So I stopped trying to persuade him. Willis is on his own-and I’m on my own.”
“Well,” Renda said pleasantly, “if it’s all right with you, I’ll still consider you and Willis a pair. Whatever he does, you’re behind it; and whatever you do, he at least knows about it. As long as you’re living together that makes it easier to keep track of both of you.”
Lizann nodded. “As long as we’re living together.”
Renda studied her. “Is that supposed to mean something?”
“Think it over.”
“I don’t have to. I’m asking you.”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
“Lizann…now don’t do anything you’ll be sorry for.”
“It’s already done. And I won’t be sorry.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“Wait and see.”
“I don’t wait on anybody!” Renda came off the table. “I’m telling you right now, if you’re planning to leave, forget about it. You try anything, I’ll fix you once and for all!”
“Frank,” Lizann said patiently. “I’ve already told you how I feel about Willis. You can ruin him, cause him to go to prison, and it won’t make the least difference to me.”
“Who says I’m talking about Willis?”
“You’ve been holding him over me like a club.”
Renda shook his head. “Let’s get it right out in plain sight. Lizzy, I’ll tell you one time and one time only.” His hand came up and he pointed a finger at her. “You try to leave here without my knowing about it, I’ll kill you.” His hand dropped. “It’s that cut and dried.”
Slowly, Lizann shook her head and her expression was composed as she said, “I’m going to leave here, Frank. And there won’t be a thing you’ll be able to do about it.”
“You’re bluffing,” Renda said.
“Am I? You’ll see.” Lizann smiled then. “Start thinking about it now-go over in your mind every possible way I could leave here-and you’ll still be thinking about it when it happens.”
The new road had reached as far as the sycamore grove the morning Manring arranged to work with Bowen’s stump-pulling detail.
He waited until the wagons were unloaded and the convicts had moved off before he went over to Frank Renda, who had dismounted and was standing near the equipment wagon.
Manring touched the brim of his straw work hat. “Mr. Renda-”
“What do you want?”
Manring leaned over the end gate of the equipment wagon then, reaching for the handle of a shovel. “I want to work with the stump pullers.”
Renda rolled a fresh cigar between his lips and clamped it in the corner of his mouth. He moved leisurely to the end of the wagon to scratch a match against the gate board. “Before,” Renda said, “it was to get off that job.”
“I’m not talking about permanent,” Manring murmured. “Put me on it a couple of days…long enough to find something out.”
“What’ve you heard?”
“Nothing yet. Bowen and Ike got their heads together. That’s all I know. Set me with them a couple of days and we’ll know more.”
“What’s your price this time?”
“I’ll let you know. After I think about it.”
“Keep talking like that,” Renda said, “your price’ll be the punishment cell.”
Manring’s eyes raised briefly. “Look, I don’t have time to be polite. Either put me with them or don’t.”
“They find out what you’re doing,” Renda said, “some morning we’ll shovel you out of the barracks.”
“That’s my worry.”
“I know it is,” Renda said. “I’m just curious to know what you want in return. You got about the softest job now-riding that scraper.”
“If I’m going to pull stumps,” Manring said impatiently, “I better get at it.”
“Go ahead.”
“I’ll have to get rid of the Mexican.”
Renda nodded. “Send him over. I’ll put him on the scraper.” He watched Manring shoulder the long-handled shovel and walk off toward Bowen’s group.
Now another one to watch, Renda thought. And he wondered if it was worth it. You didn’t trust anybody in this business, least of all a man who would inform on his own kind. Still, a man like that could be valuable and sometimes having one around was worth it, even if you couldn’t trust him.
Manring had been right about Bowen planning to jump the supply wagon that day. It had marked the beginning of Manring as an informer. And it was a strange beginning, because he had given the information without first asking for a reward. It was not until days later, after Bowen and Ike were in the punishment cell, that he asked to be taken off the stump-pulling detail. And then only hinted that perhaps he would learn other things that would be worth passing along.
Because he had been right the first time, there was no reason to doubt Manring now. That Bowen and Pryde might be up to something made considerable sense. Some men you could beat till your arms fell off and they still wouldn’t learn. Bowen had tried it once. You could tell by looking at him that he had the itch to run, and you could bet safely that he’d try it again.
And Pryde. Serving thirty years. Only six of them behind him. Thirty years for killing a man with a broken whiskey bottle in a saloon fight. Yes, Pryde qualified. With twenty-four years to go-no time off-he’d be more likely to run than Bowen. But Ike would be more choosy about how the break would be made, because he had more time to think about it.
So let Manring snoop, Renda thought. Make him tell whatever he learns. And if his price is out of line, then throw him the hell in solitary. Let him think it over by himself. He thought then: Which is what you ought to do with Lizann.
But you wouldn’t be sure of Willis’s reaction. Willis was weak, and by now too whiskey-soaked to think for himself. But if something were to happen to Lizann-No, you couldn’t be sure what Willis would do…even afraid as he was.
Since his talk with Lizann, Renda had thought it out very carefully. There were only two ways she could leave Five Shadows. Either try to run away by herself, or try to summon help from the outside. Both of these avenues were blocked. He read every piece of mail she wrote or received and a Mimbre followed her whenever she took her sorrel out. So Renda told himself she was bluffing. She was being wearisome, trying to get him excited, because there was nothing she could do about her situation.
Still, as Lizann had predicted, he continued to think about it, and merely telling himself that she was bluffing did not ease his mind.
Manring was confident now that Renda would believe almost anything he might tell him. That was a sign that his luck was still running. No, it wasn’t all luck. Getting in with Renda wasn’t luck. Arousing Bowen’s interest in the dynamite wasn’t luck either. It was work and thinking and sweating and being five jumps ahead of any luck that could turn against you.
The luck had been in the beginning. First, seeing the basis of a plan come apart with the word that Bowen was ready to run. Bowen the dynamiter, without whom the plan was nothing. So there had been no choice and informing on Bowen had been a good way to test his luck.