“Yeah, I used to admire you too, Jack.”
“But not no more?”
Longarm thought a moment. “Well, we went in different directions. But it ain’t so much that. Used to be you played pretty fair. But I can’t say much for several cold-blooded murders back there. That clerk on the postal car. That was a shade on the mean side. Shot him to pieces little by little.”
Shaw’s voice came back, heated with indignation. “Now just a damn minute. That was Original Greaser Bob’s work. That clerk wouldn’t open the safe for us. I was plannin’ on twisting his arm or something that hurt pretty good, but next thing I knew Greaser Bob commenced to shooting the poor bastard in the elbow and the leg and the belly. I hated to see it and I wouldn’t never have done it, but I got to say it impressed the hell out of the other clerk. Didn’t take him no time to decide to open up that safe.”
“Was more than one killed there, Jack.”
“I killed the passenger and I killed the fireman. And I wounded the engineer. But that was different. They was armed and was attempting to kill me. Hell, Custis, you know me pretty good.”
“I admit it didn’t look like your style, Jack, but you never know—folks change.”
“I ain’t changed that much and you can bet your last pair of boots on it.”
Longarm made a dry chuckle. “Way the situation looks I may be wearin’ them.” Shaw said, “Well, hell, ain’t no use being strangers about this matter. I’m settin’ here in the shade drinkin’ whiskey. Whyn’t you come on UP and help me put a dent in this jug?”
Longarm said, “Guess you didn’t hear, Jack. I quit drinkin’. Give it up.”
“Joined the Women’s Christian Temperance Union, have you?”
“Took the veil.” Back in his saddlebags, unless they’d been broken when his horse had fallen, were two quarts of the finest Maryland rye whiskey. It almost physically hurt Longarm to think how close they were and yet so far away. But he knew, as low as he was on water, it was no time to be drinking whiskey. Whiskey dried you out, made you more thirsty than you’d normally be. The whiskey would have to wait.
But then his overall situation wasn’t of the best, at least not to his way of thinking. He pulled his rifle near him and looked to see if there was dirt in the barrel or the slide chamber. The carbine was a Winchester .44-caliber lever-action model that was accurate up to about five hundred yards. It fired the same caliber cartridge as his revolver, which was a Colt with a six-inch barrel. He had an extra handgun of the same make and caliber, but with a nine-inch barrel. Unfortunately, it was in his saddlebags. It seemed that everything he could put to good use was in his saddlebags, including his extra ammunition. He knew he had six shells in his carbine and six in his revolver, and he knew, because it was his habit, that he had some extra cartridges in his shirt pocket, his right-hand pocket, the one he didn’t carry his cigars and his matches in. Moving carefully, he reached his hand up and dug down in the pocket, hoping he’d been extra generous with himself. He tilted his chest forward and let the shells drop out in his palm. There were seven. He had a grand total of nineteen cartridges, and no way to get any more without getting shot about five times in the attempt.
He ran his tongue around his dry mouth and peered through the greasewood at the cabin. There was no movement of any kind, not even a shadow. Half reluctantly he took a brutal inventory of his situation.
He was pinned down in a very precarious position against a man he knew to be smart, skilled, and willing. He was very low on ammunition, lower on water, and had no food whatsoever. He was exposed to a brutal sun, which would make his need for water all the greater, and help was a minimum of two or three days away, even assuming the help could find their way. He couldn’t get to a horse, and even if he could, the animal wasn’t fit to travel. Meanwhile, his adversary was in the shade, had food and water, not to mention whiskey, and was in a very defensible position. More than likely Jack Shaw was well mounted with spare horses to boot. Looked at from a realistic point of view, Longarm had to admit to himself that he really didn’t have the best of it.
Shaw called from the cabin. “Longarm, that packhorse of yours is moving around.”
Longarm looked over his shoulder. He could see the poor animal staggering around aimlessly. Each time he tried to take a step he seemed to step on his lead rope. It jerked his head and made the animal rear back in fright. One of the horses behind the barn nickered. The pack animal lifted his head and flicked his ears.
Longarm heard a creaking. He looked toward the cabin. There was a little windmill behind the cabin, and enough of a breeze had sprung up to turn its rusty blades. it would be pumping water, and Longarm hoped the packhorse would smell it and somehow get over to the corral. He said, “Jack, if that packhorse gets over your way, how about letting him in the corral so he can get some water?”
“Why don’t you lead him over?”
“C’mon, Jack, this ain’t Something to fun around about.”
“You must be funning around if you think I’m going to leave off watching you and go out the back of the cabin to let your horse in. I reckon when I come back I’d find you sitting in my rocking chair and drinking my whiskey and waiting to put a bullet in my belly.”
“You know that ain’t my style. I give you my word I won’t move an inch if you can help the horse.”
“Ain’t worth the risk, Longarm. Not even as much as I think of you. Hell, I don’t even trust myself that much.”
Longarm swore. “Then goddammit, put a bullet through his head and put him out of his misery.” The horses in the corral nickered again, and this time the packhorse answered them. Longarm saw him putting his head up, trying to smell, but the wind was wrong for him to scent the water.
Shaw said, “Why don’t you put a bullet in him.” There was a pause, and then Longarm heard Shaw chuckle. “Or are you low on ammunition? Seems I recall you never carried extra shells in your gunbelt. Said they were too heavy. I don’t neither for the same reason, but then I got me several boxes full right here. I bet you got just what you bailed Off your horse with when you flung yourself down in that little ditch. You know I missed you on purpose, don’t you?”
“You gonna bullshit me, Jack?”
“Hell, if I’d of killed you who would I have to talk to? I was getting lonesome till I saw you come out of those foothills way back yonder. I knew it was you when you wasn’t no more than a speck.”
Longarm stared at the baked earth beneath his face and shook his head.
