write your own ticket.”
Anson looked at him hard. “You will let us go?”
“I’m saying I don’t care what you do or where you go. You need it any plainer than that?”
Rita said, “They say he keeps his word. They say he’s tough as hell, but fair.”
Anson said, “Yes, I know.” He pondered for a moment, and then shrugged. “I guess that means we have to pass on the gold. Is that right, Marshal?”
Longarm laughed lightly. “I think we got to draw the line somewhere.”
Anson sighed. “Dammit, I invested a lot of time and not a little money in this venture.”
Rita said, “But we can start all over again, Anson. We’ll be free. The plan is ruined anyway.”
Longarm said, “That’s enough talk. What’s it to be?”
Chapter 10
Rita said, “Besides Carl, there are only two men there. There would have been five, not counting Anson and Carl, but you killed the other three. They were to have ridden out, taken control of the coach, and put the driver and guard afoot.” She looked down. “You saw where it went wrong.”
From the front of the coach Anson said, “And I can tell you who made it go wrong.”
“Yeah? Who?”
“Never mind for now. Go ahead, Rita.”
“Anyway, that’s all that is at that station. We were suppose to arrive there early this evening, switch the gold to a special wagon that has been built, and then head south for Mexico. We figured to have at least a two-day head start, and did not believe anyone could find us. And if they did, we would have enough guns to fight them off. Of course we would have had more if so many of the damn fools who broke Carl out hadn’t gotten themselves killed or captured.”
Longarm said, “The two at the relay station … gunmen?”
“One is for certain.” She looked up the coach to Anson. “What should I say about the other?”
Anson laughed shortly. “He’s someone whose name you will know, Marshal. You decide if he’s a gunman. Riley Hanks.”
Longarm blinked in spite of himself. It was a name well known to him. Riley Hanks had been suspected of planning and benefiting from the robbery of his own bank in Tucson. Nothing had ever been proved against him, but he had been shut down by territorial and federal officers. That had been three years past. In the intervening time he was thought to have been involved, usually behind the scenes, in several bank and several train robberies. He had been a particularly elusive fugitive because he was seldom a part of the actual robbery itself. But yes, Longarm thought, you could call the man a gunman. He was tough and smart and utterly ruthless. He turned to Anson. “I see what you mean about who made it go wrong. Hanks wanted the driver and guard killed. Yeah, he likes blood. Being a businessman was too tame for him.”
For some time Longarm had been watching one of the horses—he thought it was the animal the big man had been riding—slowly working his way toward the stage. Now the horse was only about a hundred yards away, standing, his reins drooping to the ground, staring at the coach and the mules. He obviously wanted company. He’d wandered around and smelled the dead horse and smelled the dead men. It was clear he wanted to come in where there might be feed and water. The desert was still fearfully hot, and Longarm reckoned the horse hadn’t had a drink in some time. He knew there was a barrel of water strapped to the side of the coach along with a fair-sized bucket. He said to Rita, “I don’t know if you are as good with horses as you are with men, but I want you to dip up a bucket of water out of that barrel and go out and fetch that horse in. Don’t try and ride him. I will be standing here with a Winchester and you are well within range. So don’t look at it as an opportunity to escape. Just go fetch the horse.”
The actor said, “I protest, sir. That is not proper work for a woman. If the horse must be had, let me go.”
Longarm shook his head. “You set right still, Mister Anson. I like you in close view.” He said to Rita, “Get moving. Just take the bridle and lead him in. If he smells the water he’d likely come to you. Let him have a drink.
They both watched as she walked across the desert carrying the gallon bucket. She carried it lightly as if it were no burden at all. Longarm had gotten down and gone to the bathtub to fetch his rifle in case she got any ideas. Anson said, “You wouldn’t actually shoot a woman, would you, Marshal?”
“She’s not a woman right now. She’s a prisoner.”
The man sounded amused. “But if you are planning on letting us go, why would you care if she took French leave now?”
Longarm looked around at the coach where Anson was sitting. He said, “You better get out and go take a look at the team you’ll be driving. You will be short two mules and I had to do some guesswork on the harness.”
“I’m to be driving?”
“Of course. Wouldn’t you have driven in if things had gone according to plan?”
Anson came down from the coach. “I’m not sure. I suppose so.”
They both watched as the horse nickered, catching scent of the water, and came trotting toward Rita. He came up to her and she let him drink out of the bucket while she patted his head. Anson said, “A most remarkable woman.”
“She’s something else, all right. Just what I’m not sure.” He glanced at the man. “She told you what she and I did. It doesn’t make you jealous?”
Anson shook his head. “Rita has her own tastes. I don’t try and control them anymore than she tries to control mine.”
Longarm said, “You better get up in the driver’s box and get ready. Here she comes.” As the man turned away
