The actor laughed. “You seem to require some convincing, Marshal. Give me your orders. I’ll carry them out.”
Longarm said, “I want you to point this team of mules right at that station and I want you to get them moving. When we are about a couple of hundred yards from the place I want you to whomp ‘em up as fast as they can go.”
“I may not be able to stop them.”
“Oh, you’ll stop them all right,” Longarm said. “I’m going to get you some help. But just point them straight at the front door of the station and I guarantee you they will stop. Now whip them up.”
As the stage began to move, Longarm hopped up on the right side, crouching on the water barrel which was just back of the driver’s box. He said, loud enough for Anson to hear, “I’m right here, Doc. Keep that in mind.”
They were moving. The mules, through some frantic strength that only mules knew how to summon, were digging in and pulling the heavy load down the slope at a trot and trying to stretch it to a lope. In the open coach Longarm could crane his head around and just catch sight of the station. It was coming closer and closer as the mules picked up speed.
Now they had come off the slope and were on a flat piece of prairie that would run to the front of the station. Looking from the coach was no help since the station was more ahead of them than toward the side. With the coach jouncing and rumbling along, Longarm cautiously stood up on the water barrel, clutching the overhead luggage rack with his left hand, and looked over the top of the stage. He figured they were within a hundred yards of the station. He watched the distance, gauging his timing, and then began yelling. He said in a loud voice, “HELP! HELP! I CAN’T STOP! HELP! HEAD THESE MULES!”
He saw Anson glance back at him in annoyance. Longarm said to him, “Start pulling up, you damn fool!”
Below him he saw the brake go on against the front wheel, and saw Anson set back against the reins. The mules were slowing, but they were still traveling at a clip a little faster than a trot and the station was scarcely fifty yards away. As he watched, Longarm saw three men come running out of the front of the station. One he instantly recognized as Carl Lowe, and another he thought was Riley Hanks. The third he didn’t recognize personally, but he recognized the type. The man was there for his gun. All three men came running toward the stage, grabbing the lead mules by the head and slowing them down. By the time they got into the station yard the mules were walking and about to stop. Longarm had ducked down when the men had neared, and now he dropped off the stage as it came to a halt. He drew his revolver, cocking it, and walked around the end of the coach. The three men were standing just back from the lead mules. As he walked toward them they stepped further away from the mules, backing toward the station. They had not seen him. The gunman was the first in the line, Carl Lowe was second and a little back, and Riley Hanks was at the far end. The light was starting to fail, but the men stood out in clear outline against the lighter stone of the relay station. Longarm was about five yards away, but they had not glanced his way. Riley Hanks seemed to be looking up at the driver’s box, saying something to the actor. Longarm had his revolver down by his side. He stopped and said sharply, “Hold it! Hands up!”
As he had expected, the gunman was the first to react. He immediately wheeled toward Longarm, his hand going for his pistol. Longarm brought up his revolver and fired, catching the man at the top of the chest. He was aware of the man staggering backwards and of Carl Lowe immediately dropping to the ground and covering his head with his hands, but his attention was on Riley Hanks. Hanks was a big man with a white linen duster over a good suit of clothes. He had gotten his hand under the duster and was starting to draw his weapon when Longarm came around on him. Longarm said, “Hold it! You’re under arrest!”
But then the linen duster flared out as Riley Hanks finished his draw. Longarm fired, hitting the man in the left side of the chest. He saw the sudden crimson stain on the white of the duster. But Hanks didn’t fall. He was a big man, stout, with heavy shoulders and a big girth. He took a step forward, struggling to bring his gun up.
Longarm aimed carefully and shot him two inches under the left collarbone. He flopped over backwards, the pistol falling from his lifeless fingers.
It was all over. Longarm felt suddenly tired. It seemed the chase had gone on for months or years. He walked slowly forward, his revolver at the ready. It was clear that Hanks was finished, but Longarm wasn’t so sure about the gunman. He walked to where the man lay sprawled in the dust. There was blood coming out of his nose and mouth. Longarm could see his slug had taken the man just above the heart. He’d gone down dead.
But there was still Carl Lowe cowering on the ground. Longarm said tiredly, “Get up, Carl. It’s all over. Get up, dammit!”
His attention was solely on the locksmith cowering on the ground when he was suddenly hit from behind and above by a blow that knocked him flat on his face on the ground and sent his revolver spinning out of his hand. For an instant the power of the attack had stunned him so that he wasn’t sure what was happening. Then he realized that someone had his arms wrapped around his neck and was pulling his head back, trying to snap it. Whoever it was was sitting astride him in such a way that he couldn’t rise or twist his body. He tried grabbing at the forearms that were clutched around his neck, but it took him only an instant to realize he would not be able to pry them loose that way. Whoever had him was incredibly strong. And then Longarm remembered what Rita had said about Anson’s strength. It was clear that the man had leapt out of the driver’s box, landing on Longarm’s back and driving him to the ground. He could hear Anson making little grunting sounds as he twisted and pulled at Longarm’s head.
For a few seconds Longarm tried to strike backwards with his elbows, but his foe was too well positioned for him to get in a solid hit. But he was going to have to do something quick. Anson had pulled his head back so far that his back was swayed and his chest was completely off the ground. When there was no more give that way, then his neck would have to break. He could feel a vague grayness behind his eyes, and he realized he was being suffocated. And to make matters worse, he saw Carl Lowe raise his head and look at the pistol that had flown out of Longarm’s hand and fallen very near him.
In desperation Longarm managed to get his hand down inside his belt buckle. He could just touch the derringer with his fingers, but he couldn’t quite reach it because of the way the actor was pulling him back. With all his strength, and knowing it would choke him more, he forced his head down. In one swift instant he was able to grab the little gun. He knew there wasn’t but one shot in it and he couldn’t miss. As Anson pulled him back up again, bending him almost backwards at the waist, Longarm reached across his own chest, curved the gun under his left arm until it was pointing upward and backward, and fired.
He heard a woman scream, but most importantly he felt the arms loosen around his neck. He sucked air into his lungs and gave a hard roll to his left. He felt the weight of the actor leave him. Gasping, he struggled to his hands and knees and then, slowly, stood up. Carl Lowe had almost crawled to within reach of Longarm’s revolver. Longarm took two steps and kicked the man hard under the chin. The little locksmith rose up in the air and then settled back, his arms out-flung, his body limp.
The screaming went on, but Longarm was conscious only of Rita in the coach and the guns he had in the bathtub. He made his way past the mules and then sat down on the side of the tub, still gasping. All of a sudden Rita limped out of the back of the stage and ran to where Anson was lying. She knelt down beside him, rubbing his face with her hands and kissing him feverishly. He didn’t move. She turned and screamed at Longarm, “You’ve killed him, you bastard! You’ve killed him!”