Something hit the prisoner hard enough to stagger him, but he kept coming and in another few seconds was stretched out behind the wall, sobbing and carrying on like a cat whose tail had been stomped.
Longarm snorted, “Jesus H. Christ! Of all the fool stunts! Where’d they hit you?”
“All over! I’ve been killed!”
The gunfire died away as cooler heads prevailed across the way. The big lawman crawled over to the prisoner and rolled him onto his back. He whistled thoughtfully and sighed, “Damn it, you did get hit, boy! The one in your shoulder ain’t worth mention. But the one in your side don’t look so good. You feel like throwing up?”
“I just want to be someplace else! Anyplace else! I’m too young to die!”
“You just hold on and lie still, then. You ain’t bleeding too bad. I’ll stuff some wadding in the wound and wrap it tight for you.”
“Gawd, I’m so thirsty, all of a sudden! Can I have a drink of canteen water?”
Longarm had been afraid he’d say that. He shook his head and said, “You’re gut-shot, you poor, dumb son of a bitch! What ever made you do a fool thing like that?”
“I was scared! I’m still scared! You reckon I’m fixing to die?”
“Not for a few hours.”
“You said you was going to bandage me. Ain’t you aiming to?”
“No. Best to let the gas escape as it forms. You just lie there quiet. That fool Mountie over yonder’s waving his hanky at me and I’d like to see what he wants.” Longarm called out, “That’s close enough, Foster!” and the Mountie halted, holding a white kerchief in his hand as he called back, “That wasn’t my idea, Longarm. Did they kill him?”
“Nope. But you’re starting to piss me off. Why don’t you all settle down and make some coffee or something? You know you daren’t rush me before dark and somebody figures to get hurt with all this wild shooting.”
“Longarm, it’s not my job to have a bloodbath here. Why can’t you listen to reason?”
“Hell, I’m about as reasonable as anyone for a hundred country miles. You’d best ride home to Canada before they turn on you, Foster, You ain’t taking my prisoner, now that I have him. Not without killing a U.S. Deputy Marshal for your damned old queen!”
“Damn it! That’s what I’m trying to prevent! This gunplay’s not my idea, Longarm, but your only chance is to hand the prisoner over.”
“You’re not only pissing me off, you’re starting to bore the shit out of me! It’s tedious talking in circles and we’ve all had our say. So ride on out, or join in and be damned to you!”
The Canadian lawman walked back to the boulder that Timberline and the girl were behind. The wounded prisoner gasped, “What’s going on?”
“Beats me. They’ll likely jaw about it for a while. How are you feeling?”
“Terrible. It don’t look like I’m gonna make it to Denver, does it?”
Longarm didn’t answer.
“It’s funny, but I ain’t as scared now as I was. You reckon it’s on account of I’m dying?”
“Maybe. Most men are more scared of it when it’s coming than when it actually arrives. You might make it, though. I’ve seen men hit worse and they’ve pulled through.”
“They say a man knows when he’s sinking, but I can’t tell. It’s funny, but I’d rest easier if I knew for sure, one way or the other.”
“Yep, I know what you mean. You got anything you’d like to get off your chest while there’s still time, old son?”
“You mean, like a deathbed confession?”
“Must be some comfort to such since we get so many of ‘em.”
The wounded man thought a while, breathing oddly. Then he licked his lips and said, “You might as Well know, then. My name ain’t Jones and I ain’t from Cripple Creek.”
“I figured as much. You’re Cotton Younger, right?”
“No, my name is Raymond Tinker and I hail from Omaha, Nebraska.”
“You ain’t dying, boy. You’re still shitting me!”
“It’s the truth. I told everybody my name was Jones ‘cause I done some bad things in Nebraska.”
“That where you started stealing cows?”
“Nope. Learnt to change brands about a year ago. What I done in Omaha was to cut a man.”
“Cut him good?”
“Killed the old son of a bitch! He had it coming, too.”
“Maybe. What was his name?”
“Leroy Tinker. The mean old bastard whopped me once too often.”
“You say his name was ‘Tinker?’ Was he any kin to yourself?”
“Yep, my father. I told him I was too big to take a licking, but he never listened. Just kept comin’ at me
