“We go down early,” I said.
“Three of us,” Virgil said.
“And one of us brings Redmond down,” I said. “Once we’re in place.”
“Be sure he comes,” Virgil said. “I’d like you to do that.”
“Sure,” I said. “And if they see me with him?”
“Just one man,” Virgil said.
He grinned.
“I know how fearsome you be, Everett,” Virgil said. “But them deputies probably don’t.”
“Hope they spot him soon,” I said. “I don’t want to sit out here all day, or all week.”
“We’ll help them,” Virgil said. “Have him build a cook fire, send up some smoke.”
“You still didn’t answer my question,” I said. “Think he can do it?”
Virgil shook his head.
“Don’t know,” he said. “You.”
“Don’t know, either,” I said.
Virgil grinned again.
“And he’s our hole card,” Virgil said.
68.
Virgil left with Cato and Rose before it was light. After sunup I went and collected Redmond. He had already hitched the wagon and loaded it with tools and lumber. He was carrying a Winchester. His face was pinched, and he looked pale. Mrs. Redmond was with him.
“Where are you going with my husband?” she said to me.
“Doing a little business,” I said. “Shouldn’t take long.”
“He won’t tell me where he’s going,” she said.
I nodded. Virgil had gotten that one right.
“Will you?” she said.
“No, ma’am,” I said.
“Bob?” she said.
“Can’t,” he said.
He climbed into the wagon and stored the Winchester under the wagon seat. He looked at his wife, and his children, who were staring at him wordlessly. I saw him swallow. Then he turned his head away and clucked at the mules and the wagon began to roll. I rode along beside it. I had my Colt on my hip, and a Winchester in a saddle scabbard under my left leg. Both weapons were.45s, so I could load both from my belt. I had the eight- gauge in a scabbard under my right leg, and a belt of shotgun shells looped over my saddle horn.
We didn’t talk as we went, in a wide circle around Resolution, and on south downhill toward his land. Redmond was having trouble keeping his throat open. He swallowed often. He drank frequently from his canteen.
The lumber and tools rattled in the wagon bed. The harness creaked. The mules blew occasionally. Otherwise, no sound on the ride until we got to the top of the little hill where he could look down at the lots that had been marked out on the land where his house once stood. We stopped.
“Jesus,” he said.
I nodded. He looked around.
“I don’t see any of the others, Cole, those fellas.”
“You’re not supposed to,” I said. “They’re here.”
“How do you know?” he said.
“They said they’d be here.”
“Well, what if something happened? Can’t they just let us know they’re here?”
“And anyone that might have spotted us and is laying low with a spyglass?” I said.
“Well, could they maybe just whistle or something?”
“No,” I said. “Now, you remember what we told you. Build a cook fire, send up some smoke. Park the wagon near where you’re working. Leave the Winchester in it. If things start to happen, get behind the wagon. Take out the Winchester. Defend yourself.”
He nodded painfully.
“Where you gonna go?” he said.
“I’m goin’ downhill to the west, like I’m headin’ on. Then I’m circlin’ back in behind them cottonwoods along the creek.”
“You really think somebody is watching us?” he said.
“Nope.”
“But you’re acting like they might be.”
“Yep.”
“’Cause you don’t know they’re not.”
“Correct,” I said. “Remember, stay close to the wagon. Trouble starts, get behind it.”
“You scared, Everett,” Redmond said.
“Of what? Dying? Fella asked Virgil Cole that question once, when we was marshalin’ over in Appaloosa. Virgil says to him, ‘You think me and Hitch are in this line of work ’cause we’re scared to die?’”
“So you ain’t?” Redmond said.
“Don’t look forward to it, but no, I ain’t scared enough so it gets in the way,” I said.
“And Cole ain’t scared.”
“Hell, no,” I said. “But, tell the truth, I don’t think it really occurs to him that he might.”
“I got a wife and kids,” Redmond said.
“I know,” I said. “That makes it harder.”
I gestured toward the house lots at the foot of the hill. He slapped the reins and the mules started down.
“Don’t forget to unhitch the mules,” I said. “No reason they should get shot.”
He nodded as he drove down the hill. I turned my horse and rode west like I said I would and when I was out of sight, looped back and came in behind the cottonwoods.
69.
It was probably the smoke from Redmond’s fire that did it, but with the sun just a little west of noon, they came down the south side of one of the hills in the distance. Too far to be sure, but it looked like six of them riding two by two. They disappeared into the valley and came up over the next hill. They were six, a full squad of Lujack’s deputies. Redmond saw them. He stood frozen for a moment, then looked furtively around.
The riders kept coming down into the next valley, out of sight, then reappearing on the top of our hill. They sat their horses for a moment, looking down at Redmond. The mules were unhitched, grazing toward the creek near my cottonwoods. Redmond stood frozen with a shovel in his hands in front of the wagon.
Redmond didn’t move. He looked at the rifle under the wagon seat, then back at the riders.
The riders began to walk their horses down the last slope. I looked at the sky. The sun wasn’t an issue. They were coming from the north. I was coming from the west, but the sun was so nearly straight up that it wasn’t a factor. The riders came on. Close enough now so I could hear the sound of the horses’ hooves on the dry surface of the prairie. Nobody had his gun out. These were essentially town men. Nobody was bent out of the
