Longarm said, “I don’t guess I have to warn you, do I?”
Anson turned around and smiled. “Not to give you away? I think I understand you well enough to know that I would be the first one killed.”
“And Rita. Probably at the same time.”
Anson nodded. “I think we understand each other.”
“Good,” Longarm said evenly. “Was I you, I’d make this one of my better performances, Doc.”
Longarm waited until Rita came up with the saddle horse. The animal looked to be in good condition. Longarm wanted him just in case he needed to get off on his own in a hurry. He checked the horse’s girth, let him have some more water, and then tied him to the end of the coach away from the mules. His last task was to go to the bathtub, find the box of cartridges, and reload his rifle and check the loads in his revolver. Finally he climbed up in the back of the stage and yelled to Anson to move out. After a moment he felt the stage creak and then start forward. It was a far cry from the jolting beginning that had begun the trip back at the relay station. Rita had gone up to the very end of the coach, and was huddled in a corner against the wooden box that held the safe. Longarm made no attempt to speak to her.
He got out his watch and looked at it. It was just seven-thirty. The sun was already beginning to flatten itself against the far horizon. Longarm desperately wanted to reach the relay station with a little light left. He was not sure of what to expect, in spite of what Anson and Rita had said, and he needed light for the work ahead. He said to Rita, “What condition are the relay stationkeeper and his mule hustlers likely to be in?”
She said in a dull voice, “You figure it out. You know the kind of man you are dealing with. I begged Anson not to get involved with Hanks. Didn’t do any good.”
Longarm didn’t say anything. Instead he looked out the side of the coach at the desert that seemed to be moving by with agonizing slowness. Either the mules were having a hard time with the grade, or the actor was taking his own time for his own reasons. Longarm stuck his head and shoulders out the side of the coach and yelled forward. “Get them damn mules moving, Doc, or all deals are off. Slap the reins on their backs!”
After that they seemed to go a little faster. Longarm did not think the station would be much further. He made no attempt to conceive any sort of plan since he didn’t have the slightest idea what might be waiting for him. About all he had resolved was that his call for surrender would almost instantly be followed by a bullet. He did not believe that he was dealing with anyone that could be trusted, and that included the two in the coach with him.
At the rear of the coach the saddle horse and the mule team pulling the bathtub were following along docilely, although Longarm thought he detected a look of mutiny in the eyes of his mules. For himself, he was tired and irritated and burning with a slow, hot anger. This was one job he was ready to be finished with. But he intended to make certain he finished the people who had caused it. If things went his way, Carl Lowe was going to wish he’d never left his prison cell and Riley Hanks would gladly give a fortune just to clerk in a bank again.
The stage slowly creaked to a halt. Longarm heard Anson calling his name. He jumped out the back, carrying his rifle, and mindful of the heels of his mules, went around to the front of the coach and looked up at the driver’s box. Anson motioned. “There it is.”
They had reached the top of the grade. Down a gentle slope, perhaps a half a mile away, were a cluster of small buildings. It wasn’t as big a place as the Higginses’ station. Longarm counted only two outbuildings beside the main one, which he reckoned to be the station. He could see a couple of corrals crowded with what he took to be mules, but it appeared that, back of the main building, were two or three horses. The distance was too great to be certain.Anson said, “I am at your order, oh, captain, my captain.” He gave a mocking smile. “A little poetry for the occasion.”
Longarm looked up at him, considering. If the man chose to go counter to what Longarm instructed, he’d be signing his own death warrant, but he would also be putting Longarm in a bind. He said, “Doc, you planning on carrying through on this, or do you want to get shot?”
The actor laughed. “You seem to require some convincing, Marshal. Give me your orders. I’ll carry them out.”
Longarm said, “I want you to point this team of mules right at that station and I want you to get them moving. When we are about a couple of hundred yards from the place I want you to whomp ‘em up as fast as they can go.”
“I may not be able to stop them.”
“Oh, you’ll stop them all right,” Longarm said. “I’m going to get you some help. But just point them straight at the front door of the station and I guarantee you they will stop. Now whip them up.”
As the stage began to move, Longarm hopped up on the right side, crouching on the water barrel which was just back of the driver’s box. He said, loud enough for Anson to hear, “I’m right here, Doc. Keep that in mind.”
They were moving. The mules, through some frantic strength that only mules knew how to summon, were digging in and pulling the heavy load down the slope at a trot and trying to stretch it to a lope. In the open coach Longarm could crane his head around and just catch sight of the station. It was coming closer and closer as the mules picked up speed.
Now they had come off the slope and were on a flat piece of prairie that would run to the front of the station. Looking from the coach was no help since the station was more ahead of them than toward the side. With the coach jouncing and rumbling along, Longarm cautiously stood up on the water barrel, clutching the overhead luggage rack with his left hand, and looked over the top of the stage. He figured they were within a hundred yards of the station. He watched the distance, gauging his timing, and then began yelling. He said in a loud voice, “HELP! HELP! I CAN’T STOP! HELP! HEAD THESE MULES!”
He saw Anson glance back at him in annoyance. Longarm said to him, “Start pulling up, you damn fool!”
Below him he saw the brake go on against the front wheel, and saw Anson set back against the reins. The mules were slowing, but they were still traveling at a clip a little faster than a trot and the station was scarcely fifty yards away. As he watched, Longarm saw three men come running out of the front of the station. One he instantly recognized as Carl Lowe, and another he thought was Riley Hanks. The third he didn’t recognize personally, but he recognized the type. The man was there for his gun. All three men came running toward the stage, grabbing the lead mules by the head and slowing them down. By the time they got into the station yard the mules were walking and about to stop. Longarm had ducked down when the men had neared, and now he dropped off the stage as it came to a halt. He drew his revolver, cocking it, and walked around the end of the coach. The three men were standing just back from the lead mules. As he walked toward them they stepped further away from the mules, backing toward the station. They had not seen him. The gunman was the first in the line, Carl Lowe was second and a little back, and Riley Hanks was at the far end. The light was starting to fail, but the men stood out in clear
