Roxy gave him a quick look, then he went out into the darkness and climbed into the car. As he settled himself he heard a sudden terrified scream. He put his hand on the car door, then hesitated. His hand fell to his side.
Dillon came running out. His face was like stone. “Get goin',” he snapped.
“What was that?” Roxy asked uneasily, as he engaged his gears.
“What you think?” Dillon snarled from the darkness. “Think I could let that punk run around and yap his head off?”
Roxy said nothing. He moved a little way away from Dillon. He said at last, “I guess we'd better get back.”
“Get back nothin',” Dillon said, his voice gritty. “I'm goin' to see Joe. Keep her goin'.”
They reached Joe's place after a long run. The road carried little traffic, and the cars that swept passed them didn't bother them.
At Joe's, Dillon got out quickly. “You stay here,” he said, “I'll handle this bastard. Sound your horn if anythin' starts.”
Roxy opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it. He sat still, watching the road.
A light still burned in Joe's room. Dillon walked quietly up the path. He tried the door, but it was locked. He rapped on the door with his knuckles. Roxy could hear him from the car. After a pause, Joe came. He stood in the open doorway, his mouth hanging slack.
Dillon moved the Thompson so he could see it. “Get inside,” he said through his teeth.
Joe fell back, his eyes glued to the gun. He couldn't say a word.
Dillon forced him into the room and shut the door. “I'm on to you, you double-crossing sonofabitch,” he said. “Hand over that dough.”
Joe fumbled in his pocket and brought out the roll. He said in a quavering voice, “You got me wrong.... I know you've got me wrong.”
Dillon snatched it from him. “Where's the rest of it?” he demanded. “You know, the thousand you said you lost?”
Joe's eyes widened. “I did lose it,” he gasped. “I don't get this... what's it all about... ain't you stayin' at Ma's no more?”
Dillon said, “Give me the rest of the dough or I'll blast you... My finger is itching.... Snap to it!”
The Thompson was pointing at Joe's vest. He gave a strangled gasp. “I'll get it for you, Mister...” he whined. “Don't you shoot... I'll get it.”
He stumbled over to the table and took another roll of notes from the drawer. Dillon made him count it. “I got the car—” Joe began explaining.
Dillon cut him short. “Come on out,' he said. “I still got somethin' for you to do. You play ball, an' you'll come outta this okay, but you gotta watch your step.”
Joe went with him to the car. Roxy stared, but didn't move. Dillon pushed Joe into the back of the car, then he said to Roxy in a low voice, “Get to the river... quick.” He got in beside Joe, and Roxy sent the car shooting forward.
They rode in silence for a mile or so, then Joe said, “Where... where you takin' me?” He was suddenly uneasy.
Dillon looked for Joe's face in the darkness, saw the white outline and swung his fist. Roxy heard the soft spat as his fist crushed into Joe's face. Joe gave a muffled groan and slid forward in his seat. He ducked his head, holding his hands over his nose.
Dillon pulled his arms from his face slowly. He had to exert a little strength. Joe sobbed, “No... no....” Dillon said, “Here it is, you heel!” and swung his hand again.
Roxy slowed down. He peered ahead until he saw the glitter of water in the moonlight, then he stopped the car. “This is it,” he said.
Dillon got out of the car. He said to Roxy, “Get him out of there.... I don't want to wash that heap again.”
Joe gave a scream. Roxy put his arms round him and half dragged, half pulled him out of the car. Joe couldn't stand. He put his legs down, but they folded up, so that he fell down in the road.
Dillon said, “Move the car up a bit.”
Roxy got in the car and moved it forward. Joe lay in the red circle of the tail-lamp. Complete and awful panic seized him. He suddenly lost control of his sphincter muscle. Dillon shot him with the Thompson. Just one harsh roar of the gun and Joe was nearly cut in two, the slugs, like a steel knife ripped across his chest, killing him instantly.
Dillon said, “We gotta get him into the river.”
Roxy leant out of the car. “I don't like touchin' him,” he said. “I guess I just hate touchin' that guy.”
“Get goin'.... We might get company pretty soon.” Even Dillon was slow off the mark. He put the Thompson in the car and they both walked slowly to Joe. They got him into the river. Standing on the bank, they watched the water close over him. The current was strong. They could see the rush of water in the moonlight. Joe would be taken care of for a little while.
Dillon reached forward and washed his hands in the river. He wiped them dry on the grass.
“I guess he ain't goin' to talk no more,” he said, staring out across the swiftly moving river.
Roxy stood just behind him. In spite of the close night, he felt cold. His eyes were on Dillon's back. He suddenly shivered a little.
* * *
The next two days drifted by. Both Roxy and Dillon were on edge. They did not talk about Joe, but he was on their minds all right. On the morning of the third day it came as a little stabbing shock when Ma Chester said during the morning meal, “Joe's comin' out today. He promised to bring me some stores. I guess he'll be along pretty soon.” There was a lot of pride in Ma's voice when she said it.
Roxy glanced up and looked across at Dillon. Then he pushed his plate away and got up. “Maybe he'll bring a newspaper,” he said with difficulty.
Ma Chester began clearing the table. “If Joe said he'd bring a newspaper, he'll bring a newspaper. Joe is that sort of a guy. I always say you can rely on Joe.”
A thin, mirthless smile went over Dillon's face. He followed Roxy out into the open. They wandered away together.
“Think the cops'll come on out here?” Roxy said quietly.
Dillon shook his head. “Don't seem like Joe talked about this place.... We gotta keep an eye open, but I guess they won't.”
Roxy sat on the side of the well. He lit a cigarette. Dillon could see his hands shaking. “We're takin' an awful risk stayin' here,” he said at last.
Dillon put his foot on the edge of the well. “Where the hell else can we go?” he asked irritably.
Roxy shrugged. He didn't know. They remained there some little time discussing things but getting no farther, then impatiently Roxy got up. “I guess I'll go an' fix that fence. I'm almost through.”
Dillon watched him go. When Roxy had disappeared round the side of the shack, Dillon saw Chrissie come out. She stood looking round for Roxy. Dillon kept his eyes off her face, and eyed her over from her neck down. A sudden tightness gripped him across his chest. He wandered slowly over to her, going slow so as not to startle her. She looked at him without interest.
“I'm goin' shootin',” he said when he reached her. “Suppose you come along an' watch.”
Her face brightened a little. “I want Roxy,” she said. “Where's Roxy?”
Dillon said as patiently as he could, “Roxy's fixin' the old fence somewhere.” He took his gun from his holster
