Three-Ten to Yuma and Other Stories (7 page)

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.

Brennan nodded, without answering.

Frank Usher studied him in silence. Then, “Are you scared?”

Brennan nodded again. “Sure I am.”

“You're honest about it. I'll say that for you.”

“I don't know of a better time to be honest,” Brennan said.

Chink said, “That damn well's going to be chock full.”

Willard Mims had listened with disbelief, his eyes wide. Now he said hurriedly, “Wait a minute! What're you listening to him for? I told you, I swear to God I won't say one word about this. If you don't trust him, then keep him here! I don't know this man. I'm not speaking for him, anyway.”

“I'd be inclined to trust him before I would you,” Frank Usher said.

“He's got nothing to do with it! We picked him up out on the desert!”

Chink raised his .44 waist high, looking at Willard Mims, and said, “Start running for that well and see if you can make it.”

“Man, be reasonable!”

Frank Usher shook his head. “You aren't leaving, and you're not going to be standing here when that stage pulls in. You can scream and carry on, but that's the way it is.”

“What about my wife?”

“I can't help her being a woman.”

Willard Mims was about to say something, but stopped. His eyes went to the adobe, then back to Usher. He lowered his voice and all the excitement was gone from it. “You know who she is?” He moved closer to Usher. “She's the daughter of old man Gateway, who happens to own part of the third richest copper mine in Arizona. You know what that amounts to? To date, three quarters of a million dollars.” He said this slowly, looking straight at Frank Usher.

“Make a point out of it,” Usher said.

“Man, it's practically staring you right in the face! You got the daughter of a man who's practically a millionaire. His only daughter! What do you think he'll pay to get her back?”

Frank Usher said, “I don't know. What?”

“Whatever you ask! You sit here waiting for a two-bit holdup and you got a gold mine right in your hands!”

“How do I know she's his daughter?”

Willard Mims looked at Brennan. “You were talking to that driver. Didn't he tell you?”

Brennan hesitated. If the man wanted to bargain with his wife, that was his business. It would give them time; that was the main thing. Brennan nodded. “That's right. His wife is Doretta Gateway.”

“Where do you come in?” Usher asked Willard Mims.

“I'm Mr. Gateway's general manager on the Montezuma operation.”

Frank Usher was silent now, staring at Mims. Finally he said, “I suppose you'd be willing to ride in with a note.”

“Certainly,” Mims quickly replied.

“And we'd never see you again.”

“Would I save my own skin and leave my wife here?”

Usher nodded. “I believe you would.”

“Then there's no use talking about it.” Mims shrugged and, watching him, Brennan knew he was acting, taking a long chance.

“We can talk about it,” Frank Usher said, “because if we do it, we do it my way.” He glanced at
the house. “Billy-Jack!” Then to Brennan, “You and him go sit over against the wall.”

Billy-Jack came out, and from the wall of the adobe Brennan and Willard watched the three outlaws. They stood in close, and Frank Usher was doing the talking. After a few minutes Billy-Jack went into the adobe again and came out with the yellow stage schedule and an envelope. Usher took them and, against the door of the Concord, wrote something on the back of the schedule.

He came toward them folding the paper into the envelope. He sealed the envelope and handed it with the pencil to Willard Mims. “You put Gateway's name on it and where to find him. Mark it personal and urgent.”

Willard Mims said, “I can see him myself and tell him.”

“You will,” Frank Usher said, “but not how you think. You're going to stop on the main road one mile before you get to Bisbee and give that envelope to somebody passing in. The note tells Gateway you have something to tell him about his daughter and to come alone. When he goes out, you'll tell him the story. If he says no, then he never sees his daughter again. If he says yes, he's to bring fifty thousand in U.S. scrip divided in three saddlebags, to a place up back of the Sasabe. And he brings it alone.”

Mims said, “What if there isn't that much cash on hand?”

“That's his problem.”

“Well, why can't I go right to his house and tell him?”

“Because Billy-Jack's going to be along to bring you back after you tell him. And I don't want him someplace he can get cornered.”

“Oh….”

“That's whether he says yes or no,” Frank Usher added.

Mims was silent for a moment. “But how'll Mr. Gateway know where to come?”

“If he agrees, Billy-Jack'll give him directions.”

Mims said, “Then when he comes out you'll let us go? Is that it?”

“That's it.”

“When do we leave?”

“Right this minute.”

“Can I say good-bye to my wife?”

“We'll do it for you.”

Brennan watched Billy-Jack come around from the corral, leading two horses. Willard Mims moved toward one of them and they both mounted. Billy-Jack reined his horse suddenly, crowding Mims to turn with him, then slapped Mims's horse on the rump and spurred after it as the horse broke to a run.

Watching them, his eyes half closed, Frank Usher said, “That boy puts his wife up on the stake and
then he wants to kiss her good-bye.” He glanced at Brennan. “You figure that one for me.”

Brennan shook his head. “What I'd like to know is why you only asked for fifty thousand.”

Frank Usher shrugged. “I'm not greedy.”

Chapter Three

Chink turned as the two horses splashed over the creek and grew gradually smaller down the road. He looked at Brennan and then his eyes went to Frank Usher. “We don't have a need for this one, Frank.”

Usher's dull eyes flicked toward him. “You bring around the horses and I'll worry about him.”

“We might as well do it now as later,” Chink said.

“We're taking him with us.”

“What for?”

“Because I say so. That reason enough?”

“Frank, we could run him for the well and both take a crack at him.”

“Get the horses,” Frank Usher said flatly, and stared at Chink until the gunman turned and walked away.

Brennan said, “I'd like to bury this man before we go.”

Usher shook his head. “Put him in the well.”

“That's no fit place!”

Usher stared at Brennan for a long moment. “Don't push your luck. He goes in the well, whether you do it or Chink does.”

Brennan pulled Rintoon's limp body up over his shoulder and carried him across the yard. When he returned, Chink was coming around the adobe with three horses already saddled. Frank Usher stood near the house and now Doretta Mims appeared in the doorway.

Usher looked at her. “You'll have to fork one of these like the rest of us. There ain't no lady's saddle about.”

She came out, neither answering nor looking at him.

Usher called to Brennan, “Cut one out of that team and shoot the rest,” nodding to the stagecoach.

Minutes later the Sasabe station was deserted.

They followed the creek west for almost an hour before swinging south toward high country. Leaving the creek, Brennan had thought: Five more miles and I'm home. And his eyes hung on the long shallow cup of the Sasabe valley until they entered a trough that climbed winding ahead of them through the hills, and the valley was no longer in view.

Frank Usher led them single file—Doretta Mims, followed by Brennan, and Chink bringing up the
rear. Chink rode slouched, swaying with the movement of his dun mare, chewing idly on the drawstring of his hat, and watching Brennan.

Brennan kept his eyes on the woman much of the time. For almost a mile, as they rode along the creek, he had watched her body shaking silently and he knew that she was crying. She had very nearly cried mounting the horse—pulling her skirts down almost desperately, then sitting, holding on to the saddle horn with both hands, biting her lower lip and not looking at them. Chink had sidestepped his dun close to her and said something, and she had turned her head quickly as the color rose from her throat over her face.

They dipped down into a barranca thick with willow and cottonwood and followed another stream that finally disappeared into the rocks at the far end. And after that they began to climb again. For some time they rode through the soft gloom of timber, following switchbacks as the slope became steeper, then came out into the open and crossed a bare gravelly slope, the sandstone peaks above them cold pink in the fading sunlight.