Brennan dropped it over the wheel.
Rintoon, not wearing a handgun, had not moved.
'If you got something down in that boot,' the one with the shotgun said to him, 'haul it out.'
Rintoon muttered something under his breath. He reached down and took hold of Brennan's Henry rifle lying next to the sawed-off shotgun, his finger slipping through the trigger guard. He came up with it hesitantly, and Brennan whispered, barely moving his lips, 'Don't be crazy.'
Standing up, turning, Rintoon hesitated again, then let the rifle fall. 'That all you got?'
Rintoon nodded. 'That's all.'
'Then come on down.'
Rintoon turned his back. He bent over to climb down, his foot reaching for the wheel below, and his hand closed on the sawed-off shotgun. Brennan whispered, 'Don't do it!'
Rintoon mumbled something that came out as a growl. Brennan leaned toward him as if to give him a hand down. 'You got two shots. What if there're more than two of them?'
Rintoon grunted, 'Look out, Pat!' His hand gripped the shotgun firmly.
Then he was turning, jumping from the wheel, the stubby scattergun flashing head-high--and at the same moment a single revolver shot blasted the stillness. Brennan saw Rintoon crumple to the ground, the shotgun falling next to him, and he was suddenly aware of powder smoke and a man framed in the window of the adobe.
The one with the shotgun said, 'Well, that just saves some time,' and he glanced around as the third man came out of the adobe. 'Chink, I swear you hit him in midair.'
'I was waiting for that old man to pull something,' said the one called Chink. He wore two low-slung, crossed cartridge belts and his second Colt was still in its holster.
Brennan jumped down and rolled Rintoon over gently, holding his head off the ground. He looked at the motionless form and then at Chink. 'He's dead.'
Chink stood with his legs apart and looked down at Brennan indifferently. 'Sure he is.'
'You didn't have to kill him.'
Chink shrugged. 'I would've, sooner or later.'
'Why?'
'That's the way it is.'
The man with the beard had not moved. He said now, quietly, 'Chink, you shut your mouth.' Then he glanced at the man with the shotgun and said, in the same tone, 'Billy-Jack, get them out of there,' and nodded toward the coach.
Chapter Two
Kneeling next to Rintoon, Brennan studied them. He watched Billy-Jack open the coach door, saw his mouth soften to a grin as Doretta Mims came out first. Her eyes went to Rintoon, but shifted away quickly. Willard Mims hesitated, then stepped down, stumbling in his haste as Billy-Jack pointed the shotgun at him. He stood next to his wife and stared unblinkingly at Rintoon's body.
That one, Brennan was thinking, looking at the man with the beard--that's the one to watch. He's calling it, and he doesn't look as though he gets excited.... And the one called Chink....
Brennan's eyes went to him. He was standing hip-cocked, his hat on the back of his head and the drawstring from it pulled tight beneath his lower lip, his free hand fingering the string idly, the other hand holding the long- barreled .44 Colt, pointed down but cocked.
He wants somebody to try something, Brennan thought. He's itching for it. He wears two guns and he thinks he's good. Well, maybe he is. But he's young, the youngest of the three, and he's anxious. His gaze stayed on Chink and it went through his mind: Don't even reach for a cigarette when he's around.
The one with the beard said, 'Billy-Jack, get up on top of the coach.'
Brennan's eyes raised, watching the man step from the wheel hub to the boot and then kneel on the driver's seat. He's number-three man, Brennan thought. He keeps looking at the woman. But don't bet him short. He carries a big-gauge gun.
'Frank, there ain't nothing up here but an old saddle.'
The one with the beard--Frank Usher--raised his eyes. 'Look under it.'
'Ain't nothing there either.'
Usher's eyes went to Willard Mims, then swung slowly to Brennan. 'Where's the mail?'
'I wouldn't know,' Brennan said.
Frank Usher looked at Willard Mims again. 'You tell me.'
'This isn't the stage,' Willard Mims said hesitantly. His face relaxed then, almost to the point of smiling. 'You made a mistake. The regular stage isn't due for almost an hour.' He went on, excitement rising in his voice, 'That's what you want, the stage that's due here at five. This is one I chartered.' He smiled now. 'See, me and my wife are just coming back from a honeymoon and, you know--'
Frank Usher looked at Brennan. 'Is that right?'
'Of course it is!' Mims's voice rose. 'Go in and check the schedule.'
'I'm asking this man.'
Brennan shrugged. 'I wouldn't know.'
'He don't know anything,' Chink said.
Billy-Jack came down off the coach and Usher said to him, 'Go in and look for a schedule.' He nodded toward Doretta Mims. 'Take that woman with you. Have her put some coffee on, and something to eat.'
Brennan said, 'What did you do with Hank?'
Frank Usher's dull eyes moved to Brennan. 'Who's he?'
'The station man here.'
Chink grinned and waved his revolver, pointing it off beyond the main adobe. 'He's over yonder in the well.'
Usher said, 'Does that answer it?'
'What about his boy?'
'He's with him,' Usher said. 'Anything else?'
Brennan shook his head slowly. 'That's enough.' He knew they were both dead and suddenly he was very much afraid of this dull-eyed, soft-voiced man with the beard; it took an effort to keep himself calm. He watched Billy-Jack take Doretta by the arm. She looked imploringly at her husband, holding back, but he made no move to help her. Billy-Jack jerked her arm roughly and she went with him.
Willard Mims said, 'He'll find the schedule. Like I said, it's due at five o'clock. I can see how you made the mistake'--Willard was smiling--'thinking we were the regular stage. Hell, we were just going home...down to Bisbee. You'll see, five o'clock sharp that regular passenger-mail run'll pull in.'
'He's a talker,' Chink said.
Billy-Jack appeared in the doorway of the adobe. 'Frank, five o'clock, sure as hell!' He waved a sheet of yellow paper.
'See!' Willard Mims was grinning excitedly. 'Listen, you let us go and we'll be on our way'--his voice rose--'and I swear to God we'll never breathe we saw a thing.'
Chink shook his head. 'He's somethin'.'
'Listen, I swear to God we won't tell anything!'
'I know you won't,' Frank Usher said. He looked at Brennan and nodded toward Mims. 'Where'd you find him?'
'We just met.'
'Do you go along with what he's saying?'
'If I said yes,' Brennan answered, 'you wouldn't believe me. And you'd be right.'
A smile almost touched Frank Usher's mouth. 'Dumb even talking about it, isn't it?'
'I guess it is,' Brennan said.
'You know what's going to happen to you?' Usher asked him tonelessly.
