and onto his back in the street.
The other men, stunned by Thomas’s speed, turned out to be easy pickings for Shaye and James, who both drew very deliberately—not sharing the speed Thomas possessed—and fired accurately. Only one of the other men even cleared leather and his gun ended up in the street next to his body.
All three of the Shaye men ejected the spent shells from their guns, replaced them with live loads, and holstered their weapons. Even though he knew they were dead, Shaye stepped down into the street and walked among the fallen men to make sure. He nudged each one with his boot, then picked up their weapons and tossed them away from him.
“Hold it!”
He turned and saw Sheriff Adam Kennedy approaching him, gun in hand.
“Take it easy, Sheriff,” Shaye said. “It’s all over.”
“What the hell happened here?” Kennedy asked, looking down at the dead men.
“We didn’t have a choice,” Thomas said, stepping down into the street.
Kennedy turned, trained his gun on Thomas. Shaye took two quick steps and placed his hand on the lawman’s gun.
“Holster it,” he said.
Kennedy hesitated, looked around, and then obeyed. Slowly, men began to leave the saloon to have a look. People came from other directions as well and stared.
“We stayed in town too long,” Shaye said. “That’s what happened.”
“And are you staying any longer?” Kennedy asked.
“I don’t know. I guess that depends on what my telegram says.”
“What telegram?”
Shaye leaned over the dead Griffiths, reached into his pocket, and removed the telegram. There was a bit of blood on one corner, but that was it.
“This one.”
“What does it say?” Kennedy asked.
Shaye unfolded it, read it, and looked at the lawman.
“It says we’re leaving town tomorrow.”
13
The guard opened the door to allow Jeb Collier to leave Yuma Prison.
“Thanks,” Jeb said.
“I got three months,” the guard said.
“What?”
“The guards are all bettin’ on when we’ll see you in here again. I got three months. I mean, I figure you gotta get caught, then tried, and then they’ll ship you over here…yeah, three months is about right.”
“You got it wrong, Lane,” Jeb said. “I ain’t never comin’ back here.”
“Well,” Lane said, “don’t tell me you’re goin’ straight?”
“Straight?” Jeb frowned, as if he didn’t know what that word meant.
“Yeah,” Lane said, scratching his grizzled gray cheek, “like I figured. I been a prison guard for a lot of years…nigh on to thirty, I think, here and other prisons, and you’re the worst I’ve seen.”
Jeb looked back at the prison, and then at Lane. “I been in worse places, Lane.”
“You got this place wired, that’s for sure,” Lane said. “Everybody doin’ your work for you…guards workin’ for you…”
“Not you, though, huh?”
“No,” Lane said, “not me. Like I tol’ you. I been at this too long. You’ll be back, Jeb.”
“I don’t think so, Lane.”
Lane laughed.
“I’ll keep your cell clean.”
Jeb tried to think of a good response, but then decided that the best response would simply be to never return there.
He walked out the door.
Ben Collier watched as his brother walked out the front gate of Yuma Prison, a free man after two years.
“There he is,” Clark Wilson said.
“I see him,” Ben said.
Wilson and Dave Roberts exchanged a glance, but remained silent. They were both glad to see Jeb Collier leaving Yuma Prison. The past two years had been lean ones under Ben Collier. Jeb was always the brains of the two brothers.
However, Ben was the mean one, so they kept quiet.
Ben Collier moved forward to meet his brother with open arms.
“Hey, Ben!”
Jeb grabbed his larger, though younger, brother and hugged him tightly. Ben put his older brother in a bear hug and lifted him off his feet.
“Jesus, you’re killin’ me!” Jeb shouted. “Put me down, you big ox.”
Ben put Jeb back on his feet and backed away.
“I’m just so damn glad to see you, Jeb.”
Jeb looked past his brother to where Roberts and Wilson were standing with four horses.
“Boys,” he said.
“Boss,” Wilson said. Roberts nodded.
“You got my gun?”
“Right here.” Ben turned. “Dave.”
Roberts moved to one of the horse and fetched a gun belt from the saddlebags. He handed it to Ben, who turned and presented it to his brother.
Jeb took the gun belt and strapped it on.
“You don’t know how naked I’ve felt without this,” he said, adjusting it on his hip.
“You think you should be puttin’ that on right in front of the prison?” Ben asked.
“Why not?” Jeb asked. “I’m out, ain’t I? I’m a free man.”
“Why don’t we get away from here before they change their minds?” Ben asked.
Jeb smiled and patted Ben on the shoulder.
“That’s not such a bad idea, brother,” he said. “I’ve also been itchin’ to be on a horse again.”
Wilson walked the fourth horse over to Jeb.
“This horse any good?” he asked.
“I picked it out myself,” Ben said.
“Clark?” Jeb asked, looking at Wilson.
“It’s a good animal, boss.”
Jeb nodded. Wilson was a much better judge of horseflesh than his brother Ben was.
“Okay, then,” Jeb said. “Let’s ride.”
They rode for half a day and then camped, still in Arizona.
“Sorry we don’t got better than beans for ya, Jeb,” Ben said.
“Hey,” Jeb said, “I’m eatin’ them under the open sky. This is the best meal I’ve had in two years.”
“Well,” Clark Wilson said, reaching into his saddlebag, “you probably ain’t had none of this in two years.”
He came out with a bottle of whiskey.
Jeb’s eyes lit up. “Give that here.”
“It ain’t the best stuff—” Wilson started, handing it over.
“It’s whiskey,” Jeb said. “That’s all that matters.”
