Anson laughed shortly. “He’s someone whose name you will know, Marshal. You decide if he’s a gunman. Riley Hanks.”
Longarm blinked in spite of himself. It was a name well known to him. Riley Hanks had been suspected of planning and benefiting from the robbery of his own bank in Tucson. Nothing had ever been proved against him, but he had been shut down by territorial and federal officers. That had been three years past. In the intervening time he was thought to have been involved, usually behind the scenes, in several bank and several train robberies. He had been a particularly elusive fugitive because he was seldom a part of the actual robbery itself. But yes, Longarm thought, you could call the man a gunman. He was tough and smart and utterly ruthless. He turned to Anson. “I see what you mean about who made it go wrong. Hanks wanted the driver and guard killed. Yeah, he likes blood. Being a businessman was too tame for him.”
For some time Longarm had been watching one of the horses—he thought it was the animal the big man had been riding—slowly working his way toward the stage. Now the horse was only about a hundred yards away, standing, his reins drooping to the ground, staring at the coach and the mules. He obviously wanted company. He’d wandered around and smelled the dead horse and smelled the dead men. It was clear he wanted to come in where there might be feed and water. The desert was still fearfully hot, and Longarm reckoned the horse hadn’t had a drink in some time. He knew there was a barrel of water strapped to the side of the coach along with a fair-sized bucket. He said to Rita, “I don’t know if you are as good with horses as you are with men, but I want you to dip up a bucket of water out of that barrel and go out and fetch that horse in. Don’t try and ride him. I will be standing here with a Winchester and you are well within range. So don’t look at it as an opportunity to escape. Just go fetch the horse.”
The actor said, “I protest, sir. That is not proper work for a woman. If the horse must be had, let me go.”
Longarm shook his head. “You set right still, Mister Anson. I like you in close view.” He said to Rita, “Get moving. Just take the bridle and lead him in. If he smells the water he’d likely come to you. Let him have a drink.
They both watched as she walked across the desert carrying the gallon bucket. She carried it lightly as if it were no burden at all. Longarm had gotten down and gone to the bathtub to fetch his rifle in case she got any ideas. Anson said, “You wouldn’t actually shoot a woman, would you, Marshal?”
“She’s not a woman right now. She’s a prisoner.”
The man sounded amused. “But if you are planning on letting us go, why would you care if she took French leave now?”
Longarm looked around at the coach where Anson was sitting. He said, “You better get out and go take a look at the team you’ll be driving. You will be short two mules and I had to do some guesswork on the harness.”
“I’m to be driving?”
“Of course. Wouldn’t you have driven in if things had gone according to plan?”
Anson came down from the coach. “I’m not sure. I suppose so.”
They both watched as the horse nickered, catching scent of the water, and came trotting toward Rita. He came up to her and she let him drink out of the bucket while she patted his head. Anson said, “A most remarkable woman.”
“She’s something else, all right. Just what I’m not sure.” He glanced at the man. “She told you what she and I did. It doesn’t make you jealous?”
Anson shook his head. “Rita has her own tastes. I don’t try and control them anymore than she tries to control mine.”
Longarm said, “You better get up in the driver’s box and get ready. Here she comes.” As the man turned away Longarm said, “I don’t guess I have to warn you, do I?”
Anson turned around and smiled. “Not to give you away? I think I understand you well enough to know that I would be the first one killed.”
“And Rita. Probably at the same time.”
Anson nodded. “I think we understand each other.”
“Good,” Longarm said evenly. “Was I you, I’d make this one of my better performances, Doc.”
Longarm waited until Rita came up with the saddle horse. The animal looked to be in good condition. Longarm wanted him just in case he needed to get off on his own in a hurry. He checked the horse’s girth, let him have some more water, and then tied him to the end of the coach away from the mules. His last task was to go to the bathtub, find the box of cartridges, and reload his rifle and check the loads in his revolver. Finally he climbed up in the back of the stage and yelled to Anson to move out. After a moment he felt the stage creak and then start forward. It was a far cry from the jolting beginning that had begun the trip back at the relay station. Rita had gone up to the very end of the coach, and was huddled in a corner against the wooden box that held the safe. Longarm made no attempt to speak to her.
He got out his watch and looked at it. It was just seven-thirty. The sun was already beginning to flatten itself against the far horizon. Longarm desperately wanted to reach the relay station with a little light left. He was not sure of what to expect, in spite of what Anson and Rita had said, and he needed light for the work ahead. He said to Rita, “What condition are the relay stationkeeper and his mule hustlers likely to be in?”
She said in a dull voice, “You figure it out. You know the kind of man you are dealing with. I begged Anson not to get involved with Hanks. Didn’t do any good.”
Longarm didn’t say anything. Instead he looked out the side of the coach at the desert that seemed to be moving by with agonizing slowness. Either the mules were having a hard time with the grade, or the actor was taking his own time for his own reasons. Longarm stuck his head and shoulders out the side of the coach and yelled forward. “Get them damn mules moving, Doc, or all deals are off. Slap the reins on their backs!”
After that they seemed to go a little faster. Longarm did not think the station would be much further. He made no attempt to conceive any sort of plan since he didn’t have the slightest idea what might be waiting for him. About all he had resolved was that his call for surrender would almost instantly be followed by a bullet. He did not believe that he was dealing with anyone that could be trusted, and that included the two in the coach with him.
At the rear of the coach the saddle horse and the mule team pulling the bathtub were following along docilely, although Longarm thought he detected a look of mutiny in the eyes of his mules. For himself, he was tired and irritated and burning with a slow, hot anger. This was one job he was ready to be finished with. But he intended to make certain he finished the people who had caused it. If things went his way, Carl Lowe was going to wish he’d never left his prison cell and Riley Hanks would gladly give a fortune just to clerk in a bank again.
The stage slowly creaked to a halt. Longarm heard Anson calling his name. He jumped out the back, carrying his rifle, and mindful of the heels of his mules, went around to the front of the coach and looked up at the driver’s box. Anson motioned. “There it is.”
They had reached the top of the grade. Down a gentle slope, perhaps a half a mile away, were a cluster of small buildings. It wasn’t as big a place as the Higginses’ station. Longarm counted only two outbuildings beside the main one, which he reckoned to be the station. He could see a couple of corrals crowded with what he took to be mules, but it appeared that, back of the main building, were two or three horses. The distance was too great to be certain.Anson said, “I am at your order, oh, captain, my captain.” He gave a mocking smile. “A little poetry for the occasion.”
Longarm looked up at him, considering. If the man chose to go counter to what Longarm instructed, he’d be signing his own death warrant, but he would also be putting Longarm in a bind. He said, “Doc, you planning on carrying through on this, or do you want to get shot?”