outline against the lighter stone of the relay station. Longarm was about five yards away, but they had not glanced his way. Riley Hanks seemed to be looking up at the driver’s box, saying something to the actor. Longarm had his revolver down by his side. He stopped and said sharply, “Hold it! Hands up!”
As he had expected, the gunman was the first to react. He immediately wheeled toward Longarm, his hand going for his pistol. Longarm brought up his revolver and fired, catching the man at the top of the chest. He was aware of the man staggering backwards and of Carl Lowe immediately dropping to the ground and covering his head with his hands, but his attention was on Riley Hanks. Hanks was a big man with a white linen duster over a good suit of clothes. He had gotten his hand under the duster and was starting to draw his weapon when Longarm came around on him. Longarm said, “Hold it! You’re under arrest!”
But then the linen duster flared out as Riley Hanks finished his draw. Longarm fired, hitting the man in the left side of the chest. He saw the sudden crimson stain on the white of the duster. But Hanks didn’t fall. He was a big man, stout, with heavy shoulders and a big girth. He took a step forward, struggling to bring his gun up.
Longarm aimed carefully and shot him two inches under the left collarbone. He flopped over backwards, the pistol falling from his lifeless fingers.
It was all over. Longarm felt suddenly tired. It seemed the chase had gone on for months or years. He walked slowly forward, his revolver at the ready. It was clear that Hanks was finished, but Longarm wasn’t so sure about the gunman. He walked to where the man lay sprawled in the dust. There was blood coming out of his nose and mouth. Longarm could see his slug had taken the man just above the heart. He’d gone down dead.
But there was still Carl Lowe cowering on the ground. Longarm said tiredly, “Get up, Carl. It’s all over. Get up, dammit!”
His attention was solely on the locksmith cowering on the ground when he was suddenly hit from behind and above by a blow that knocked him flat on his face on the ground and sent his revolver spinning out of his hand. For an instant the power of the attack had stunned him so that he wasn’t sure what was happening. Then he realized that someone had his arms wrapped around his neck and was pulling his head back, trying to snap it. Whoever it was was sitting astride him in such a way that he couldn’t rise or twist his body. He tried grabbing at the forearms that were clutched around his neck, but it took him only an instant to realize he would not be able to pry them loose that way. Whoever had him was incredibly strong. And then Longarm remembered what Rita had said about Anson’s strength. It was clear that the man had leapt out of the driver’s box, landing on Longarm’s back and driving him to the ground. He could hear Anson making little grunting sounds as he twisted and pulled at Longarm’s head.
For a few seconds Longarm tried to strike backwards with his elbows, but his foe was too well positioned for him to get in a solid hit. But he was going to have to do something quick. Anson had pulled his head back so far that his back was swayed and his chest was completely off the ground. When there was no more give that way, then his neck would have to break. He could feel a vague grayness behind his eyes, and he realized he was being suffocated. And to make matters worse, he saw Carl Lowe raise his head and look at the pistol that had flown out of Longarm’s hand and fallen very near him.
In desperation Longarm managed to get his hand down inside his belt buckle. He could just touch the derringer with his fingers, but he couldn’t quite reach it because of the way the actor was pulling him back. With all his strength, and knowing it would choke him more, he forced his head down. In one swift instant he was able to grab the little gun. He knew there wasn’t but one shot in it and he couldn’t miss. As Anson pulled him back up again, bending him almost backwards at the waist, Longarm reached across his own chest, curved the gun under his left arm until it was pointing upward and backward, and fired.
He heard a woman scream, but most importantly he felt the arms loosen around his neck. He sucked air into his lungs and gave a hard roll to his left. He felt the weight of the actor leave him. Gasping, he struggled to his hands and knees and then, slowly, stood up. Carl Lowe had almost crawled to within reach of Longarm’s revolver. Longarm took two steps and kicked the man hard under the chin. The little locksmith rose up in the air and then settled back, his arms out-flung, his body limp.
The screaming went on, but Longarm was conscious only of Rita in the coach and the guns he had in the bathtub. He made his way past the mules and then sat down on the side of the tub, still gasping. All of a sudden Rita limped out of the back of the stage and ran to where Anson was lying. She knelt down beside him, rubbing his face with her hands and kissing him feverishly. He didn’t move. She turned and screamed at Longarm, “You’ve killed him, you bastard! You’ve killed him!”
It came out a croak, but it came out. Longarm said, “Guess that was his last role. He didn’t do it too good.”
His strength was coming back, but he was still unsure of his footing as he made it to the back of the stage and hunted up the bottle of whiskey he’d left there. He took down two good swallows and then corked the bottle. There was still a lot of work to be done before he could rest. He walked out from the stage. Carl Lowe was sitting up, shaking his head. Rita had walked away from Anson’s body and was hugging herself and crying. Longarm said, “Carl, get the hell up. And you too, Rita Ann. These mules have got to get unhitched and put away. So put your cares and woes aside and get over here and help.”
Chapter 11
That first night, after a little something to eat and drink, all he could do was bind both of them hand and foot. Lowe he bound with leather thongs, his hands behind his back. He knew the man could open safes, and he might also be able to open knots. He tied up Rita with less severity, allowing her to have her hands in front of her. The only leather he used on her was around her ankles when he secured her to a post in the common room of the station. Through it all Rita had been stoic and silent, not having spoken a word to him since he’d killed Anson. Lowe had been submissive and frightened. He seemed grateful that all Longarm was going to do was tie him up in an extremely uncomfortable position for the entire night. Longarm had made it clear from the first that he wasn’t fond of either one of them and the less trouble they gave him the easier they would find life.
It had taken half the night, but they’d finally managed to get all the mules unhitched, the bathtub mules as well, and into the corral for water and hay. Longarm had turned the four saddle horses, the one he’d brought and the three the men who’d ridden to the station had brought, in with the mules. It had caused some kicking and squealing among the mules, but they had gradually settled down and accepted the horses.
There was nothing he could do about the bodies. Rita had slipped out while they were making a kind of supper and put a blanket over Anson, but nothing else had been done. As best he could figure it, the next stage was not due until about thirty-six hours after they had arrived. Until that stage came, or somebody showed up who knew how to work a telegraph, there was really nothing he could do. He knew that he was not up to the task of harnessing a team of mules that could pull the stage, and he had no intention of breaking his fingers trying.
But he had to figure some way to handle his prisoners. He didn’t want to watch them every moment, and there were firearms and horses all about. There was no good place to lock them up, either together or separately, and he wasn’t sure there was a lock on the place that would hold Carl Lowe. In the end he gathered up all the ammunition from all the firearms, and there were quite a few, and took it out in the desert and hid it. He did the same with all
