when he got to the station. It was very important that he know what kind of a lead the stage had.
Then Higgins reached him. For a moment the old man danced around in front of Longarm like the runner was going to stop. Finally, when Longarm had to go to the trouble to circle him, he fell in stride to Longarm’s left asking what had happened, what was going on, what and where was the trouble, and why was Longarm running.
Longarm knew he didn’t have much breath to spare, but he thought if he could get the old man to run ahead and have something prepared for him, it would save trouble. He got the words out one at a time, between gasping breaths, each one coming out as slowly and painfully from his parched throat as if they were being pulled from him with red-hot tongs. He said, “Hurry … to … station … fix … me … big … glass … water. Put … some … whiskey … in … it. Hurry.”
But Higgins didn’t go. He said, “But what’s it all about, Marshal? What’s happened?”
The world was starting to turn dim, even in the blinding sunlight. “Can’t … talk. No … breath. Hurry … dying … of … thirst.”
Finally the old man seemed to get the message. He said, “You want me to run on ahead and get you a big glass of water and put a little whiskey in it?”
All Longarm could do was nod mutely. But he did hold out his rifle to the old man. Higgins stared at it for a second and then took it. He said, “Yessir, I’m going to run fast as I can an’ fix yore water. Longarm, it ain’t healthy running in this sun.”
Longarm turned blazing eyes on him. He couldn’t speak, but his eyes said a lot.
Higgins nodded his head. “Yessir! I’m a-goin’! An’ right now!”
He put his head down as Higgins, surprisingly agile, raced on ahead. When he looked up after twenty strides the man was out of sight. But by now he could distinctly see the shade cast by the porch roof. It was the most inviting sight he thought he’d ever seen. He kept running. It was odd, but even though he’d given his carbine to Higgins, he could still feel the weight of the weapon in his hand and arm and shoulder. He kept running, starting now to stagger more than just a little. Sometimes he had trouble finding and following the coach track. The whole world seemed to be going gray.
And then he suddenly felt cool. He blinked and looked up. He had run under the porch and was about to run into the wall of the station. He stopped. At least he stopped moving his legs, though they felt as if they were still in motion. The door to the station was just a few feet to his left. With the last of his strength he took the few strides to it and then turned into the incredibly dim and cool interior of the station. Higgins was coming toward him holding out a quart jar full of what looked to be water colored with a little whiskey. Longarm made it as far as the bench by the front door and then he collapsed. Higgins said in alarm, “My laws, Marshal, I believe you have overdone yoreself.”
When he could he gasped out the main elements of what had happened. Mrs. Higgins stood alongside her husband looking very upset and concerned. Her only reaction was to say, “Oh, not Rita Ann! Not that sweet girl! Oh, no, I can’t believe it!”
He drank down the first jar of water and whiskey very carefully, taking it in small sips, forcing himself to take it slow when his whole body was screaming out for him to dump the precious stuff down his throat. But he persevered. It took him perhaps five minutes. Then Higgins brought him another jar with a little more whiskey, He sipped at it slowly while he tried to tell them as much as he could. The water and whiskey were helping, but he could tell just how done in his body was. He hurt all over, and he knew it would only get worse. But all that didn’t matter. Right then time was the most important factor. When he had told Higgins about the plan to rob the stage, the stationkeeper wanted to run to telegraph the news to his company. When Longarm said the wires had been cut, Higgins insisted on going in and trying his key. It didn’t matter, since Longarm was going to need at least half an hour to recover. He gave his rifle to Mrs. Higgins and told her she needed to eject the cartridges and clean the sand off whatever she could. Then Higgins came back looking glum. He said, “Yep. You be right. Wires is cut both north and south. My key is as dead as a doornail. What the hell we gonna do, Marshal?”
Longarm’s breathing was almost back to normal. Mrs. Higgins brought him some cooking grease and he greased his feet and put his boots back on. But they were a snug fit, and he took them off again. His feet had swelled and his socks, even worn out as they were, were too thick. Mrs. Higgins brought him a pair of her husband’s thin white cotton socks. He put them on and then his boots fit better.
He said to both of them, “Look, I don’t have much time. Mrs. Higgins, you see to my guns and fix me something easy to eat. Stir up some eggs in some milk with some sugar. That ought to work. Half a dozen eggs in a quart of milk. Mister Higgins, you’ve got to go out and get your Mexicans to harness the most reliable span of mules you’ve got. The easiest to handle.”
Higgins scratched his head. “Wa’l, that be fine. I got just the mules, but we ain’t got no harness fer just the one span.”
Longarm stifled the urge to scream. He said calmly, “Mister Higgins, Herman, I ain’t got but a little time. You’ll have to cut some harness down to fit one span.”
“Cut company harness?”
Then Longarm couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Dammit, Herman, a bunch of robbers is fixing to steal how many thousands of dollars in gold from your company and you are talking to me about cutting up some damned harness!” He suddenly stopped and took a breath. Mrs. Higgins was coming in with his rifle. He said, “Look here, I’m sorry I yelled, but I ain’t got a lot of time or strength. I’m nearly done in. So you got to do what I tell you without explaining or arguing.”
Higgins said, “My stars, Marshal, I don’t know what went through my mind. Sylvie, I’m losing my reason. Course we can cut a harness down to fit a span of mules, but what you gonna hitch them up to?”
Longarm shook his head. “I don’t know. Some kind of sled. I thought about your little table, but I’m scared it would just dig in the dirt and flip over. I’ll think of something, Right now run out and get those Mexicans busy hooking me up a team.” As Higgins started out of the room, Longarm took the Winchester from Mrs. Higgins and ejected the cartridges by working the lever action. It hurt him to hear the gritty sound of the action as he worked the receiver chamber back and forth. But it made him think of something. He said to Higgins, “Herman, you ain’t got any forty-four-caliber shells by any chance, do you?”
Higgins stopped and nodded. “Happens I do. Got a fairly fresh box of ‘em. Got an old rifle myself, though the sights need straightening.”
“Don’t let me forget them,” Longarm said. Both his revolver and rifle fired .44 cartridges, but all his extra ammunition was in his saddlebags, which were on top of the stage. He said, “Hurry those Mexicans up. Every minute that stage is getting closer and closer to the next station.”
