She went to the wall rack and brought back a dry cloth and neither of them spoke as she folded it and pressed it gently against the wound.
And as she did this, Red's eyes lowered to the streak of clay on the blanket and he brushed it off carefully. He looked at the bloodstain and said in a low voice, "I'm sorry about your cover." He was silent for a moment then said, almost dazedly, "I'm going to die--"
She made no answer and now his eyes lifted to her faded blond hair and then over her head to roam about the room. He was thinking about the soiled blanket and now he saw the raveling poplin curtains that looked flimsy and ridiculous next to the drab adobe. On the board partition there was a print of a girl in a ballet costume, soft-shadowed color against the rough boards. And over by the far wall was the grotesquely fat stove, its flue reaching up through the low ceiling.
He said, "You got it pretty hard, haven't you?"
She hesitated before saying, "We get by."
"Well," he said, glancing around again, "I wouldn't say you had the world by the tail."
Virginia looked up quickly. There was a rattling of knocks on the door and from outside she heard, "Honey, give that gun back to Red like a good girl."
JEFFY CAME THROUGH the doorway prodding Boland before him. He glared at Red who was holding his gun on his lap carelessly. "You're some watchdog."
Red said nothing, but then he gagged as if he would be sick. He breathed hard with his mouth open to catch his breath and then seemed to sag within himself. His eyes were open, but lifeless.
"It's a good thing I tested you out, Red."
Red was silent for a moment. Then he said, "Jeffy, did I shoot that man in Dodge?"
"I told you you did." He looked at Red curiously.
"But I don't remember doing it."
"How many things you ever done do you remember?"
"I thought I'd remember killing a man."
Jeffy rolled the tobacco on his tongue, looking around the room. Then he shrugged and sent a stream of it to the floor. "I'm not going to argue with you, Red. I don't have time." He glanced at Virginia. "Honey, how'd you like to go for a ride?"
There was a silence then, and Jeffy laughed to fill it. "You don't think I'm riding out of here without some protection!" He looked at Boland. "Davie, would you take a pot at me with your woman hangin' onto my cantle?"
Boland's face was white. For a moment there had been a fury inside of him, but his brain had fought it and now he felt only panic. There was a plea in his voice when he said, "My wife's going to have a baby."
Jeffy grinned at him. "All the more reason."
"Jeffy."
He glanced at Red who seemed suddenly wide awake.
"Jeffy, you're just scaring, aren't you?"
"What do you think?"
He looked at him, squinting, as if he were trying to read his mind. "You'd take that girl on horseback the way she is?"
"Red, if I had a violin I'd accompany you." He started toward Virginia.
And with his movement the gun turned in Red's lap, and the room filled with the roar as it went off. He cocked to fire again, but there was no need. He looked at Jeffy lying facedown on the floor and said incredulously, "He would have done it!"
He let the pistol fall to the floor. "There," he said to Virginia. "Keep your coffeepot away from here."
Boland looked at Jeffy and then picked up the pistol. Virginia smiled at him wearily and sat down at the table, propping her elbows on it. He said to her, "Maybe you better get some sleep."
"Dave."
He turned to Red.
"I'm going to die, Dave."
Boland remained silent.
"Do me a favor and don't holler law until the morning. Then it won't matter."
"All right, Red." Then he said, "I don't want to sound like a gravepicker, but how much have you and Jeffy got on your heads?"
Red looked at him, surprised. "Reward?"
Boland nodded.
"Why, nothin'. What made you think so?"
"You said somebody identified you in Clovis."
"Well, it was probably somebody used to know us."
Now that he had asked him, Boland was embarrassed. But, strangely, there was no disappointment and at that moment it surprised him. He grinned at Virginia. "I guess you don't get anything for nothing."
She smiled back at him and didn't look so tired. "You should know that by now."
For a few minutes there was silence. They could hear Red's breathing, but it was soft and even. Suddenly, Boland said, "Ginny, you know I haven't been home more'n an hour!"
Virginia nodded. "And it seemed like the whole, long night." Her eyes smiled at him and she said, softly, "When you're telling our grandchildren about it, maybe you can stretch it a little bit."
The Captives
Chapter One
HE COULD HEAR the stagecoach, the faraway creaking and the muffled rumble of it, and he was thinking: It's almost an hour early. Why should it be if it left Contention on schedule?
His name was Pat Brennan. He was lean and almost tall, with a deeply tanned, pleasant face beneath the straight hat brim low over his eyes, and he stood next to his saddle, which was on the ground, with the easy, hip-shot slouch of a rider. A Henry rifle was in his right hand and he was squinting into the sun glare, looking up the grade to the rutted road that came curving down through the spidery Joshua trees.
He lowered the Henry rifle, stock down, and let it fall across the saddle, and kept his hand away from the Colt holstered on his right leg. A man could get shot standing next to a stage road out in the middle of nowhere with a rifle in his hand.
Then, seeing the coach suddenly against the sky, billowing dust hanging over it, he felt relief and smiled to himself and raised his arm to wave as the coach passed through the Joshuas.
As the pounding wood, iron, and three-team racket of it came swaying toward him, he raised both arms and felt a sudden helplessness as he saw that the driver was making no effort to stop the teams. Brennan stepped back quickly, and the coach rushed past him, the driver, alone on the boot, bending forward and down to look at him.
Brennan cupped his hands and called, "Rintoooon!"
The driver leaned back with the reins high and through his fingers, his boot pushing against the brake lever, and his body half turned to look back over the top of the Concord. Brennan swung the saddle up over his shoulder and started after the coach as it ground to a stop.
He saw the company name, HATCH & HODGES, and just below it, Number 42 stenciled on the varnished door; then from a side window, he saw a man staring at him irritably as he approached. Behind the man he caught a glimpse of a woman with soft features and a small, plumed hat and eyes that looked away quickly as Brennan's gaze passed them going up to Ed Rintoon, the driver.
"Ed, for a minute I didn't think you were going to stop."
Rintoon, a leathery, beard-stubbled man in his mid-forties, stood with one knee on the seat and looked down at Brennan with only faint surprise.
"I took you for being up to no good, standing there waving your arms."
"I'm only looking for a lift a ways."
"What happened to you?"
Brennan grinned and his thumb pointed back vaguely over his shoulder. "I was visiting Tenvoorde to see about buying some yearling stock and I lost my horse to him on a bet."
"Driver!"
Brennan turned. The man who had been at the window was now leaning halfway out of the door and looking up at Rintoon.
"I'm not paying you to pass the time of day with"--he glanced at Brennan--"with everybody we meet."
Rintoon leaned over to look down at him. "Willard, you ain't even part right, since you ain't the man that pays me."