Shaw’s voice was getting weaker and he was starting to slur his words.
Longarm said, “I reckon so, Jack.”
Shaw grinned. He said faintly, “I fooled you, Custis.” He opened his mouth to say something else; instead he coughed up a great gout of blood. His body suddenly jerked and heaved. His eyes glazed over. He opened his mouth again and then shut it. His body settled back.
Longarm reached over and closed his eyes. Then he stood up. As he turned toward the house he saw the two Mexican women standing there. They had wrapped themselves in blankets. Their eyes followed Longarm as he walked past them and into the house. He had to find the money. That was his next job.
It was two nights later, and Longarm was sitting in a hotel room trying to finish his report. In the morning he was going to take a train that would get him into Phoenix. There he was going to turn over to Arizona authorities the money he had recovered, along with a copy of his report that would give an account of what had happened since the robbery. He had written it pretty much as it had happened, including his deal with Jack Shaw to take the outlaw to New Mexico Territory. The Arizona authorities could make of that what they wanted. It was how it had happened and the way Longarm had seen to play it for the best. If they wanted to judge him, that was their business. He was damned if he would lie for anyone.
Except he couldn’t finish the report. He had written everything up to where Shaw had come out of the shed. He had written, “Culprit had taken refuge in a small shed, refusing to surrender. Federal officer had warned culprit shots would be fired through the thin walls of shed. Culprit had thrown open door and charged officer. Culprit …”
He had stopped at that point. He didn’t want to write that Shaw had charged him with a little burnt stick in his hand, forcing Longarm to shoot him in that instant of uncertainty. Jack Shaw was a lot of things, had been a lot of things, but he hadn’t been a coward. He just couldn’t stand the idea of being pent up and killed by people he didn’t know. He’d asked Longarm to do the job. And maybe, even though he’d denied it, there had been some repentance about what he’d done with his life, about some of the meanness he’d shown. Hell, there was no use telling all of Jack’s secrets. He couldn’t do any more harm. Might as well let him get away with his last little trick.
Longarm inked his pen and then wrote, “Culprit charged federal officer, forcing officer to defend himself. Culprit Jack Shaw was killed by a single bullet to the chest. He had no last words.”
Longarm put down the pen and took up his glass of whiskey. He had a drink, and then looked out the window at the dark. Jack might have made a friend if he hadn’t gotten confused, Longarm thought. But he at least deserved to go out the way he wanted to. Longarm yawned. He was tired and weary. He would be ready to get back to Denver and take it easy for a while. Seemed like the rough life got harder every year.
He shook his head and finished his whiskey. He was going to sleep that night.
