He left the house twice that afternoon. The first time out the front door and around to the back, taking his time while his eyes studied the trees that began to close in less than a hundred feet away, just beyond the barn and the smaller outbuildings. He took his horse to the barn before returning to the house.
Less than forty feet away, directly he went to the barn, counting eighteen steps diagonally to the right from the house to the barn door. He milked the single cow in the barn, fed the horses three, counting his own checked the rear door which had no lock on it, then took the grain bucket he had used and propped it against the front door with a short handled shovel. He picked up the milk pail and went out, squeezing past the door that was open little more than a foot.
His eyes went to the back of the stable that was directly across from the barn then along the fence to the house. He walked to the right, passed a corn crib that showed no corn in it through the slats, then turned to the house and went inside, bolting the back door.
They waited and now there was little to talk about. He told her one of them might try sneaking up through the barn to get their horses; but there wasn't much they could do about that. He told her about propping the grain bucket against the door and what he would do and what she would do if they heard it fall. Maybe they wouldn't hear it though. There were a lot of maybe's and he told her the best thing to do was not even think about it and just wait.
'Maybe they've gone and won't come,' the girl said.
'That's right, maybe they've gone and won't even come.'
Though neither of them believed that.
They watched the darkness creep in long shadows down out of the trees and across the meadow.
It came dingy and dark gray over the yard bringing with it a deep silence and only occasional night sounds. When the room was dim the girl rose and brought a lamp to the table, but Brady shook his head and she sat down again without lighting it.
Now neither of them spoke and after a time Brady's hand moved to hers on the table. His fingers touched her fingers lightly. His hand covered hers and held it. They sat this way for a long time, at first self consciously aware of their hands together, then gradually relaxing, still not speaking, but feeling the nearness of one another and experiencing in the touch of their hands a strange warm intimate feeling, as if they had known each other for years and not just hours.
They sat this way as Brady's fingers moved and rubbed the back of her hand lightly, feeling the small bones and the smoothness of her skin, and when her hand turned their palms came together and held firmly. They sat this way until the faraway sound of a falling bucket clanged abruptly out of the darkness.
Brady came to his feet. He heard the girl gasp and he said, 'Hold on to yourself. Remember now, you stay in here. You don't open the door unless you hear my voice.'
He went out the front door, closing it quietly, now moving along the front of the house. At the corner he drew his Colt, eased back the hammer, hesitated only a brief moment before crouching and running along the fence to the front of the stable.
He stopped to listen, then moved again, around the stable and along its adobe side to the back corner and now he went down to one knee.
Less than forty feet away directly across from him, the door of the barn came slowly open. Someone hesitated in the black square of the opening before coming out cautiously, keeping close to the front of the barn until he reached the corner. Brady waited, his eyes going from the dark figure to the open doorway, but no one followed.
You know who it is, Brady thought, raising, aiming the Colt. You know blame well who it is. He's alone because he ran out of patience. Too young and full of fire to sit and wait. All right. That's fine. Albie, you're digging your own hole and that's just fine.
He watched the figure leave the barn: sidestepping cautiously out of the deep shadow, facing the house with his drawn gun, but edging one step at a time toward the dim outline of the corn crib.
Don't give him a chance, Brady thought. But as his hand tightened on the trigger he called out, 'Albie '
Albie fired. There was no hesitation, no indecision.
With the sound of his name, his gun hand swung across his body and fired and with the movement he was running, going down as he reached the corn crib.
Silence.
So you learn, Brady thought. But you don't make the same mistake twice. He stepped out past the corner of the stable bringing up the Colt and lining the barrel on the empty corn crib.
Three times in quick succession he aimed and fired, moving the Colt from right to left across the shape of the crib. The sounds clashed in the darkness: the heavy ring of the Colt, the ripping, whining of the bullets splintering the slats and with the third shot a howl of pain.
Brady moved quickly across the yard to the corner of the barn. He loaded the Colt, listening, watching the crib, then edged around the corner, dropped to his hands and knees and crept toward the crib. Albie was on his knees doubled over holding his arms tight to his stomach when Brady pressed the Colt into his back.
'Get up, Albie.'
'I can't move.' The words came out in short grunts.
'You're going to move one more time,' Brady said.
He took Albie's gun then went quickly across to the house and called the girl's name. The door opened and he saw the relief in her eyes and saw her about to speak, but he said, 'Albie's not going to last.'
'Oh ' He saw her bite her lower lip.
'Listen but maybe we can still use him.' Brady spoke hurriedly, but quietly, telling her what to do: to hold Albie's gun on him and not move it even though he was doubled over with a bullet through his middle. And after that Brady ran to the barn. He went through it seeing only the cow, then out the rear door and across the wagon ruts into the trees. A dozen yards back in the pines he found their horses picketed with Albie's. He led them back to the barn and came out the front leading only Albie's.
The girl's eyes were open wide. 'He's hurt terribly bad.'
Brady said nothing. Albie screamed as Brady stooped and pulled him to his feet and made him mount the horse. Brady said then, 'Listen to me.
We're giving you a chance. Go get some help. You hear me, go get Ed to take care of you.' He slapped the horse's rump, jumped after it and slapped again and the horse broke into a gallop with Albie doubled over, his hands gripping the saddle horn and rounded the corner of the stable.
Taking the girl's hand, Brady led her through the house, opened the front door then stood in the doorway, his hand holding her arm.
'I don't understand,' she said.
'Listen a minute.' They could still hear Albie's horse, though faintly now in the distance. 'Going straight across,' Brady said. 'Telling us where Mr.
Moak's waiting.'
Chapter Six
Two to One Odds
Now think about it some more, Brady thought.
He was by the window again staring out at the masked, unmoving shapes in the darkness and hearing the small sounds of the girl who was in the kitchen, beyond the blanket that draped the doorway. Kitty. No Catherine Mary. Brady said Catherine Mary again to himself, listening to the sound of it in his mind.
All right, and what're the odds on calling her that tomorrow?
Two to one now. Getting better. But now what will they do? You know what you'll do, but what about them? Was Albie on his own? Maybe. Or part of a plan. Maybe. One of them is back in the trees and the other one's in front, across the meadow. Maybe.
Could you run for it now, both of you? Maybe. Or will Ed Moak run for it? Hell no. One, two, three, four maybe's and a hell no so the changing of the odds doesn't change your situation any. You still sit and wait. But now
