es-start walkeen. Es-straight ahead anâ you donâ look back, onnerstanâ? You look back anâ I goeen to hahv to es-shoot you. Ahora ve. â He prodded Elmer in the back with the gun muzzle and Elmer walked away unhurriedly, an easygoing fellow who took such things with equanimity. Boag waited until Elmer had traversed most of the length of the alley before Boag wheeled back around the corner and broke into a sprint across somebodyâs dark lawn.
He slipped through back alleys for ten minutes before he stopped in a passage behind a thriving saloon. Lamplight spilled out of a high back window, enough for him to see. He emptied Elmerâs poke and separated the coins from the greenjackets; he distributed the coins in his pockets so that they wouldnât make telltale bulges. The greenjacket bills he stuffed back into Elmerâs poke because paper money was printed up by various local banks and Elmer might be able to identify his own greenbacks, although it was doubtful since heâd just won most of them in the poker game. Still there was no point taking the chance. Boag left the poke, the green-jackets, and Elmerâs revolver in the pile of trash behind the saloon; guns had serial numbers and Elmer might be able to identify that too.
With one hundred and forty-six dollars in coin on his person, Boag climbed into the loft of a horse-boarding stable near the waterfront and fell asleep almost instantly, his leg throbbing only a little.
3
He had himself clothed and outfitted and ready to go by nine in the morning; by nine-thirty he had ridden beyond sight of the Yuma bluff and was trotting north on the hard-mouthed horse toward the confluence of the Colorado and the Gila.
It was a used McClellan army saddle for which most civilians wouldnât give ten dollars, which Boag had paid for this one; he was used to the split-tree saddle, heâd ridden them nearly twenty years. The rifle was a .38-56 Winchester with calibrated hunting sights and the revolver was a .45 Colt Theuer-conversion model, ten or twelve years old but the rifling grooves and lands were in good shape and there wasnât any rust on it and the gunsmith had let him have it for four dollars. Heâd bought ammunition moulds and primers and crimpers as well as several boxes of cartridges so he was ready to reload his own if circumstances took him where you couldnât buy cartridges, especially for the .38-56 which wasnât all that common a caliber. Heâd picked it for its high velocity and long-range accuracy; a steady enough rifleman could keep all his shots within a hat-size circle at four hundred yards with this rifle, and that was a lot better than the Army .45-70 heâd been used to, where you were out of luck beyond two hundred yards.
He had a few luxuries like a flint-and-steel fire-starting mechanism, a rain poncho, a good flat-crown border hat, and somebodyâs old heavy plaid flannel riding coat which might keep him warm if he had to ride up into the Sierra. He had spare underclothes and socks and heâd bought a pair of moccasins which were now in the saddlebags along with several daysâ worth of food. The canteen was a two-gallon container: heavy, but if you ran out of water in the desert you were dead.
And he still had sixty-four dollars in his new jeans. Heâd bought wellâall except the horse, about which he was beginning to have his doubts. Thirty-five dollars for a seven-year-old sorrel gelding with the gait of a razorback sow and the mean eye of a wolverine.
But the horse moved along at a good clip and he guessed that would do.
He found the Uncle Sam where he had thought she would be. You couldnât really hide anything that big. Theyâd put her where nobody would look for her for a while. It was where she had to be and Boag had no trouble.
They had steamed her up the Gila a few miles to a point where the highway veered away from the riverbank and went around
He slipped through back alleys for ten minutes before he stopped in a passage behind a thriving saloon. Lamplight spilled out of a high back window, enough for him to see. He emptied Elmerâs poke and separated the coins from the greenjackets; he distributed the coins in his pockets so that they wouldnât make telltale bulges. The greenjacket bills he stuffed back into Elmerâs poke because paper money was printed up by various local banks and Elmer might be able to identify his own greenbacks, although it was doubtful since heâd just won most of them in the poker game. Still there was no point taking the chance. Boag left the poke, the green-jackets, and Elmerâs revolver in the pile of trash behind the saloon; guns had serial numbers and Elmer might be able to identify that too.
With one hundred and forty-six dollars in coin on his person, Boag climbed into the loft of a horse-boarding stable near the waterfront and fell asleep almost instantly, his leg throbbing only a little.
3
He had himself clothed and outfitted and ready to go by nine in the morning; by nine-thirty he had ridden beyond sight of the Yuma bluff and was trotting north on the hard-mouthed horse toward the confluence of the Colorado and the Gila.
It was a used McClellan army saddle for which most civilians wouldnât give ten dollars, which Boag had paid for this one; he was used to the split-tree saddle, heâd ridden them nearly twenty years. The rifle was a .38-56 Winchester with calibrated hunting sights and the revolver was a .45 Colt Theuer-conversion model, ten or twelve years old but the rifling grooves and lands were in good shape and there wasnât any rust on it and the gunsmith had let him have it for four dollars. Heâd bought ammunition moulds and primers and crimpers as well as several boxes of cartridges so he was ready to reload his own if circumstances took him where you couldnât buy cartridges, especially for the .38-56 which wasnât all that common a caliber. Heâd picked it for its high velocity and long-range accuracy; a steady enough rifleman could keep all his shots within a hat-size circle at four hundred yards with this rifle, and that was a lot better than the Army .45-70 heâd been used to, where you were out of luck beyond two hundred yards.
He had a few luxuries like a flint-and-steel fire-starting mechanism, a rain poncho, a good flat-crown border hat, and somebodyâs old heavy plaid flannel riding coat which might keep him warm if he had to ride up into the Sierra. He had spare underclothes and socks and heâd bought a pair of moccasins which were now in the saddlebags along with several daysâ worth of food. The canteen was a two-gallon container: heavy, but if you ran out of water in the desert you were dead.
And he still had sixty-four dollars in his new jeans. Heâd bought wellâall except the horse, about which he was beginning to have his doubts. Thirty-five dollars for a seven-year-old sorrel gelding with the gait of a razorback sow and the mean eye of a wolverine.
But the horse moved along at a good clip and he guessed that would do.
He found the Uncle Sam where he had thought she would be. You couldnât really hide anything that big. Theyâd put her where nobody would look for her for a while. It was where she had to be and Boag had no trouble.
They had steamed her up the Gila a few miles to a point where the highway veered away from the riverbank and went around
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