over his eyes. “Wake me when you see it,” he said.
“Fargo?” Dagen said.
When the outlaw leader didn’t open his eyes, Dagen called him again. “Fargo?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s a-comin’.”
Fargo got up, stretched, then walked back over to his earlier vantage point. Far below, just coming off the valley floor and starting up the winding mountain road, was the stage. From this distance it was so tiny that it looked like a toy stage and team he had once seen in a store window.
“I told you we’d beat it here,” Fargo said. “Now all we have to do is wait for it to get to the turnout. The driver will have to stop there to give the horses a rest and check his brakes before he goes down the other side.”
“If you ask me, we should’a just took the stage down there,” Dagen said. “’Stead of practically killin’ the horses bringin’ ’em up here. If we have to ride fast, the horses ain’t got nothin’ left in ’em.”
“Do you see anyone up here that’s goin’ to come after us?” Fargo asked.
“No.”
“Then don’t be worryin’ none about havin’ to ride somewhere fast.”
They waited behind some rocks for about half an hour. Then Ponci got up. “I gotta walk around a bit,” he said. “I’m gettin’ kinks just sittin’ there.”
“Walk around, but stay back away from the road. Wouldn’t want them to see anyone up here and get spooked,” Fargo warned.
“You know what I need right now?” Ponci said as he stretched his arms out.
“What’s that?” Casey asked.
“I need me a cold piece of pie and a hot piece of ass.”
Casey laughed. “Well, you might get yourself a cold piece of pie somewhere,” he said. “But you ain’t goin’ to be gettin’ you no hot piece of ass. Leastwise, not soon.”
“What do you mean, not soon?” Dagen asked, laughing. “What woman would have anything to do with Ponci?”
“I’ve got me a woman,” Ponci said. “She’s a good woman too.”
“Hell, the only kind of woman who would have anything to do with you would be a whore,” Casey said. “And anyone can get theirselves a whore if they have money.”
“Yeah, well, they’s whores and they’s whores,” Ponci said. “And back when I was butcherin’, I had me a special whore.” He looked at Fargo. “She was a real special whore, wouldn’t you say so, Fargo?”
“Enough talk about whorin’,” Fargo said, holding up his hand. “Quiet, here comes the stage.”
The five men pulled their guns and waited behind the rocks for the stage to reach the turnout. They could hear the driver shouting to his team, the whip snapping, the harness clanging and creaking, and the stage squeaking as it worked its way laboriously up the hill.
It arrived a few minutes later, the horses snorting tiredly, straining into the harness.
“Whoa, hold it up there, team,” the driver shouted, pulling on the reins. The stage rumbled to a stop. “Folks,” he called down. “We gotta let these here animals blow for a bit before we start down the other side, so we goin’ to be here for the better part of an hour. But they’s a real purty view from up here, and they’s a private place over there behind them rocks for you ladies if you’re a’needin’ it. So why’n’t you take a break and stretch your legs a mite?”
The outlaws, watching from behind a nearby rock outcropping, saw five passengers get out of the stage: two men, two women, and a young boy.
“Hey, Fargo,” Dagen said, pointing. “Is that tall son of a bitch there who I think he is?”
“Yeah,” Fargo answered. “That’s the one who killed Pete back in Calabasas.”
The driver was not wearing a side arm, and was near the lead horses, adjusting a loose harness. The shotgun guard leaned his gun against the front wheel and took several steps away from it to stretch.
“Damn, they are making it almost too easy for us,” Fargo said. He raised his pistol. “The rest of you, take out the shotgun guard.”
“What about the son of a bitch who killed Pete? He’s wearin’ a gun, and we know he can shoot.”
“He’s mine,” Fargo said, aiming. “Ready? Now!”
All five men fired at about the same time. Fargo had the satisfaction of seeing a spray of blood come from the top of the head of the tall man standing by the back wheel of the stage.
Kerry and Falcon went down.
Hearing the gunshots, and seeing his guard and one of the passengers go down, Gentry ran back from the front of the team, heading for the shotgun that Kerry had leaned against the front wheel.
“Hold it, driver!” Fargo called, stepping out into the open. “You pick up that scattergun and it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”
Gentry, realizing that he would never make it to the gun in time, stopped. As he looked toward the robbers, his face registered surprise when he recognized them. These were the same men who had attempted to rob the express office back in Calabasas.
“What are you doing here? I thought you fellers was in jail back in Calabasas.”
“They realized they made a mistake, and they let us out,” Fargo said.
