saying anything. Dr. Favor in fact didn’t say anything even before, when Braden was forcing his wife to go with him.
Lamarr Dean mounted up then. He sat there cradling the Henry across his arms, looking down at the people there and finally up to me, thinkingabout something, maybe wanting to be sure he hadn’t made any mistakes.
He thought of one thing. “The shotgun,” he said. “Open it up and throw it away.”
I climbed down to the driver’s seat and did as I was told, emptying both shells before heaving the gun off into the brush. Lamarr Dean nodded. He wheeled around and took off after Braden and Mrs. Favor, not hurrying though.
By now Braden and Mrs. Favor were about a hundred yards off, out in the wide-open part of the meadow. Way off beyond them there was just dust to show that Early and the Mexican were up there somewhere driving the horse teams.
I felt the coach shake; I remember that. But I didn’t look around till a moment later. When I did, there was John Russell kneeling on the roof right behind me unbuckling the cartridge belt from his blanket roll. He glanced up, keeping an eye on Dean who was taking his time moving away from us. Russell slipped the Spencer out, looking at Lamarr Dean again, and that was when he spoke.
He said, “How do they get that sure of themselves?”
I didn’t know what he meant, and certainly couldn’t believe he intended to shoot Lamarr Dean. I said, “What?”
“How do they get that sure with the mistakes they make?” Already he was slipping a cartridgeinto the breech, loading it quick for single fire. I guess I didn’t say anything then.
He was busy and it was like he was telling it to himself. “Luck then,” he said. “They think they know how to do it, but it’s luck.” I saw him slip three cartridges from the belt and hold them in his left hand. All of a sudden he held still.
I looked around and saw Dean riding back toward us. Braden and Mrs. Favor, two hundred yards off, had come around and reined in as if to wait for him.
Lamarr Dean had put his rifle in the saddle boot, but now, as he approached us, he drew his Colt.
3
Lamarr Dean was close now.
“I pretty near forgot something,” he said. Then he noticed Russell up on the roof behind me. “What’re you at up there?”
“Getting my things,” John Russell said. The Spencer was down between his legs as he knelt there, sitting back on his feet, his hands flat on his thighs.
“Expect you’re going somewhere?”
“Well,” Russell shrugged, “why sit here, uh?”
“How far you think you’ll get?”
“That’s something to find out.”
Lamarr Dean heeled his horse, moving to the back of the coach. He stood up in the stirrups to reach one of the two waterskins hanging there, unhooked it, and looped the end thong over his saddle horn. Then he came back with the skin hanging round and tight in front of his left leg. He pulled the horse around so he was facing us again.
“You didn’t say how far you’d get,” Lamarr Dean said.
Russell’s shoulders went up and down. “We find that out after a while.”
Lamarr Dean raised the revolver, hesitating, making sure we saw what he was going to do. Mendez yelled something. I’m not sure what, maybe just a sound. But as he yelled it, Lamarr Dean pulled the trigger and the waterskin still hanging from the back of the coach burst open. It gushed and then trickled as the bag sagged, all the water wasting itself on that sandy road, and Lamarr Dean just sat there looking at us. He didn’t smile or laugh, but you could see he enjoyed it.
He said to Russell, “Now how far?”
There wasn’t supposed to be an answer to that. Lamarr Dean took up his reins and started around. Russell waited till that moment.
“Maybe,” he said, “as far as Delgado’s.”
Lamarr Dean held up, taken off-stride, and now he was sideways to us, his gun hand on the offside and he had to turn his head around over his shoulder to look up at Russell.
“You said
Lamarr Dean mounted up then. He sat there cradling the Henry across his arms, looking down at the people there and finally up to me, thinkingabout something, maybe wanting to be sure he hadn’t made any mistakes.
He thought of one thing. “The shotgun,” he said. “Open it up and throw it away.”
I climbed down to the driver’s seat and did as I was told, emptying both shells before heaving the gun off into the brush. Lamarr Dean nodded. He wheeled around and took off after Braden and Mrs. Favor, not hurrying though.
By now Braden and Mrs. Favor were about a hundred yards off, out in the wide-open part of the meadow. Way off beyond them there was just dust to show that Early and the Mexican were up there somewhere driving the horse teams.
I felt the coach shake; I remember that. But I didn’t look around till a moment later. When I did, there was John Russell kneeling on the roof right behind me unbuckling the cartridge belt from his blanket roll. He glanced up, keeping an eye on Dean who was taking his time moving away from us. Russell slipped the Spencer out, looking at Lamarr Dean again, and that was when he spoke.
He said, “How do they get that sure of themselves?”
I didn’t know what he meant, and certainly couldn’t believe he intended to shoot Lamarr Dean. I said, “What?”
“How do they get that sure with the mistakes they make?” Already he was slipping a cartridgeinto the breech, loading it quick for single fire. I guess I didn’t say anything then.
He was busy and it was like he was telling it to himself. “Luck then,” he said. “They think they know how to do it, but it’s luck.” I saw him slip three cartridges from the belt and hold them in his left hand. All of a sudden he held still.
I looked around and saw Dean riding back toward us. Braden and Mrs. Favor, two hundred yards off, had come around and reined in as if to wait for him.
Lamarr Dean had put his rifle in the saddle boot, but now, as he approached us, he drew his Colt.
3
Lamarr Dean was close now.
“I pretty near forgot something,” he said. Then he noticed Russell up on the roof behind me. “What’re you at up there?”
“Getting my things,” John Russell said. The Spencer was down between his legs as he knelt there, sitting back on his feet, his hands flat on his thighs.
“Expect you’re going somewhere?”
“Well,” Russell shrugged, “why sit here, uh?”
“How far you think you’ll get?”
“That’s something to find out.”
Lamarr Dean heeled his horse, moving to the back of the coach. He stood up in the stirrups to reach one of the two waterskins hanging there, unhooked it, and looped the end thong over his saddle horn. Then he came back with the skin hanging round and tight in front of his left leg. He pulled the horse around so he was facing us again.
“You didn’t say how far you’d get,” Lamarr Dean said.
Russell’s shoulders went up and down. “We find that out after a while.”
Lamarr Dean raised the revolver, hesitating, making sure we saw what he was going to do. Mendez yelled something. I’m not sure what, maybe just a sound. But as he yelled it, Lamarr Dean pulled the trigger and the waterskin still hanging from the back of the coach burst open. It gushed and then trickled as the bag sagged, all the water wasting itself on that sandy road, and Lamarr Dean just sat there looking at us. He didn’t smile or laugh, but you could see he enjoyed it.
He said to Russell, “Now how far?”
There wasn’t supposed to be an answer to that. Lamarr Dean took up his reins and started around. Russell waited till that moment.
“Maybe,” he said, “as far as Delgado’s.”
Lamarr Dean held up, taken off-stride, and now he was sideways to us, his gun hand on the offside and he had to turn his head around over his shoulder to look up at Russell.
“You said
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