"Russ," Albie said, pushing himself up to a sitting position. "Russ is my ma and the other one's my pa." He laughed then and called out, "Hey, Ma, this boy's pickin' on me!" He came to one knee as the riders came out of the aspen stand, reining their horses to a walk.
The one called Russ, slouched easily in the saddle but with a Winchester across his lap said, "Albie, you're never going to learn."
Albie came to his feet, brushing the seat of his pants. He was grinning and said, "Learn what, Ma?"
"That boy's about to take his suit back."
"Like hell he is," Albie said.
Brady stepped toward him as he spoke and as Albie glanced around, Brady's left hand slammed into his face. Brady was on him as he went down, pressing his knee into his stomach, and when he rose he was holding the Colt Albie had been wearing. He saw that it was his own.
"I told you," Russ said.
Brady looked up at the two riders. "Either of you object?"
Russ shook his head. "Not us. It's your suit, I guess you can take it if you want."
"My Winchester, too," Brady said.
Chapter Four Private Business Russ hesitated. His right hand was through the lever and the barrel pointed just off from Brady.
The second rider, who was bearded and wore a low crowned, stiff brimmed hat, held his hands one over the other on the saddle horn.
He said, "Russell, give Mr. Brady his piece." He spoke without straining to be heard and now his eyes moved from Brady who was studying him curiously as he moved toward Russ to take the extended Winchester to the girl and one hand lifted easily to touch his hat brim.
"You must be Kitty I've heard so much about."
And as she nodded he said, "Has Albie been a botheration to you, Miss Glennan?"
"I have to tell you that he has," the girl said seriously. "And being his father, you should know about the things he's been doing " The bearded man's palm raised to interrupt her.
"No, ma'am, I'll admit I took Albie in and treated him as blood kin, but there's no relationship between us." His eyes went to Brady then returned.
"Ask Mr. Brady there, he'll tell you who I am.
Though he knows me by a part of my life I've been struggling to forget."
Studying the bearded man, Brady frowned.
"We've met before?"
"Bless your heart," the bearded man said. "It's a good feeling to know you can outlive the remembrance of past sins." He touched his hand to his hat brim again, looking at the girl. "My name is Edward Moak, ma'am, once a desperate outlaw, thieving and living off monies that were never rightfully mine, but never killing anybody you understand, until the day five years and five months ago I ran into this same Mr. Steve Brady and he ended my evil ways with one barrel load of his scattergun." He looked at Brady. "Am I in the recollection of your past now, Mr. Brady?"
"On the Sweet Mary to Globe run," Brady said, studying Edward Moak, picturing him as he had been: heavier, and with only a mustache. "You've changed some."
"Yuma will do that to a man," Edward Moak said.
"Cutting cell blocks out of solid rock will change a man physically, and it can cleanse him spiritually if he'll let it." His eyes went to the girl. "Which I did, Miss Glennan. I let it. The evil oozed out of my skin in honest labor and I felt newly baptized and born again in the bath of my own perspiration."
"Amen," Albie said. He was standing now. He had taken off Brady's coat and cartridge belt and now he stepped out of the pants and let them fall in the dust.
"You see," Moak said. "Albie's smart alecky because he was raised in bad company and hasn't learned a sense of proper values. That's why I've taken up guiding him, so he'll profit by my experiences and not have to learn the Yuma way." Moak's eyes dropped to his hands on the saddle horn. "It's an easy road for some people, Miss Glennan; but others have to fight the devil every step of the way."
He looked up then. "Say, are your folks here, Miss Glennan? Albie's told me about them and I'd be proud to make their acquaintance."
The girl shook her head. "They won't be back until tomorrow."
"That's a shame," Moak said. "Well, maybe some other time." He looked at Brady then. "I almost forgot, I still have something of yours." He stepped out of the saddle and walked around the two horses toward Brady, his legs moving swiftly in high boots. He wore a Colt on his right hip and as his hand moved to his inside coat pocket there was a glimpse of leather, a shoulder holster under his left arm. Brady saw it; but now his eyes were on Edward Moak's face, trying to read something there, but seeing only an easy grin in the shorttrimmed beard.
"You've changed some yourself," Moak said.
"Grown taller and filled out. You know I didn't get much of a look at you at the holdup." His grin broadened. "All I saw was that scattergun swingin' on me and then my whole left arm hurting like fire and next thing I was on the ground."
He held the arm up stiffly. "Can only bend her about six inches, but I say that's little enough to pay for learning the way of righteousness.
"But I got a good look at you at the trial," Moak went on. "Remember, we were on facing sides of those two tables, only you on the right side and me on the wrong. Yes, sir, I got a good look at you that day. Heard you testify, heard you swear your name to be Stephen J. Brady Then, not an hour ago, Russell hands me a billfold taken out of the wildness of Albie's youth, and the first thing I see when I open it is the name Stephen J. Brady." Moak shook his head. "I swear for all the country it's a small damn world."
"So it was in your mind to return the billfold,"
Brady prompted.
"To right a wrong," Moak agreed solemnly.
"Though I didn't suspect I'd find you this easy. I figured to pick up young Albie here then go on toward Rock of Ages on the hunch you'd gone that way."
"Just a hunch?" asked Brady.
"Well," said Moak, "I couldn't help reading in your billfold you're a line superintendent which is a fine thing going from shotgun messenger to line super in just five years and five months so I felt you'd go there, Rock of Ages being your closest station." Moak paused. "You were, weren't you?"
"In time," Brady said.
"You're staying here a while?"
"I think so."
"You could ride with us," Moak said, "seeing we're both going the same way."
Their eyes held as they spoke. Brady was thinking, feeling the Colt in his right hand and the Winchester in his left pointed to the ground but with his finger through the trigger guards: Watch him. Keep watching him. And he said, "No, you go on. I haven't made plans yet."
"We'll be glad to wait on you, Mr. Brady,"
Moak said softly.
"You must have plenty of spare time," Brady said.
The grin showed in Moak's beard. "We're waiting on a business deal to go through." "Damned if we aren't," said Albie. He was smiling, standing in his long underwear with hands on thin hips, and he winked at Moak as the bearded man glanced stern faced at him.
Brady caught it. He said then, "I have private business here with Miss Glennan, so you all go on."
Moak's eyebrows raised. "Now why didn't you say that before? Sure we will." He turned to his horse, motioning Albie to his, then took his time stepping into the saddle. As he neck reined to turn he said, "Mr. Brady, I'm looking forward to seeing you again."
He rode away, past the front of the house, along the edge of the dense pines with Russell catching up to him then, Albie following and looking back as they neared the far point of trees. Brady and the girl watched them all the way as they followed the curve of the valley north.
As they rounded the edge of trees and passed from sight the girl said, "He was lying, wasn't he?"
Brady looked at her. "How do you know?"
"Just the way he talked. And the little things," the girl said. "His friends, his two guns."
"You didn't miss anything."
"The way he kept staring at you."
"Like in the courtroom," Brady said.
"I'll
bet he was mean that day."
"Swore to hunt me and kill me," Brady said.
"Which you didn't hear him mention today. He carried on so, screaming and trying to get at me, it took four deputies to take him out."
"That was before he was born again," the girl said.
"Yeah," Brady said, "before he sweated out the badness."
They smiled at the same time and the girl said, "It's not funny, but it's kind of, isn't it?"
"That part is," Brady said. "But I'll bet what he's doing around here isn't funny." He watched the girl go over to his suit and pick it up, shaking out the dust. He watched her fold it over her arm as her eyes met his again.
"We could have some coffee," she said, "and talk about it."
Chapter Five So They'll Be Back They moved the table to the front window and sat next to each other facing it with the Winchester propped against the table edge.
Brady told her about the attempted stage holdup five years ago: how he had shot Ed Moak and how his Uncle Joe Mauren had gotten another man who lived only a few hours with a .45 bullet inside him.
He told her what he knew about Ed Moak, things that were brought out at the trial and things he learned about him afterward: That he'd been an outlaw and a gunslinger as far back as anyone knew anything about him; had killed six men for sure, though some put it as high as ten. That he had a reputation for talking mildly and smiling when he talked, and everybody agreed that if a man wore two guns and no badge and did that, you'd better look out for him.
The girl said, So we take for granted he hasn't been reborn. And Brady said, Without even having to mention it.
There was only one reason Ed Moak would be here, would have stayed around for over two weeks, Brady concluded. Because money shipments took this road up to the Rock of Ages mine to meet the once a month payroll. There couldn't be any other reason and Moak almost admitted it himself when he said, "We're waiting on a business deal to go through," and Albie laughed and said something. By that time Moak must have been sure of himself and he wasn't so worried about us wondering what he was doing here.
You see, Brady explained, before that he didn't know who was around and he was slick, careful as could be. But then he made you tell that your father was gone till tomorrow and right after that he started to change, not too much, but as if it really didn't matter what we believed anymore. He was sure then that at least somebody he couldn't see wasn't aiming a gun at him.
And he might have made a play then, but by that time I was on guard, holding a Colt and a Winchester and he knew I'd use them with a stiff left arm to testify to the fact.
So they made the show of riding away. It didn't have to be done then and there, face to face, not when they know they got all night.
The girl asked, "But why wouldn't they just leave for good?"
"With the odds in their favor?"
"But they wouldn't dare plan a holdup now.
They're known."
"Only by us," Brady said.
"We're still enough to testify against them," the girl said earnestly. "They know that much."
She remembered being frightened in front of Edward Moak, then amused, considering it an unusual experience, one that would make good telling, especially if you described it almost casually. And for a moment she had even pictured herself doing this. But now, realizing it and not wanting to realize it, looking at Brady's face and waiting for him to say something that would relieve the nervous feeling tightening in her stomach, she knew that it was not over.
"Moak must have a good plan," Brady said, "to stay around here studying the land for two weeks.
He's not going to waste it because of one man. Especially if the man's the same one almost shot his arm off one time. Then there's Albie. His pride's hurt and the only way to heal it is to bust me. So they'll be back."
The girl's eyes were open wide watching him.
"And we just wait for them?"
"I've thought it out," Brady said. "First, I can't leave you here alone. As you said, you know their names. But two of us running for it would be hard put, not knowing where they are."
"You're saying you could make it alone," the girl said. "But I'd slow you down."
Brady nodded. "I'll say it's likely, but we'll never know because I'm not about to leave you alone."
"Mr. Brady, I'm scared. I don't know what I'd do if you left."
"I said I wouldn't. Listen, we're staying right here and that narrows down the possibilities. If they want us they'll have to come in here and they'll have to do it before tomorrow morning . . . before your dad's due back or anybody else who might happen along. Like my Uncle Joe Mauren."
The girl was silent for a moment. "But if they don't see you ride out they'll think you're . . . spending the night."
Brady smiled. "All right, you worry about our good names and I'll worry about our necks. If Ed Moak believes that, that's fine. He'd think we don't suspect he's still around and he might tend to be careless."
Her eyes, still on his face, were open wide and she bit at her lower lip nervously thinking over his words.
"You're awful calm about it," she said finally.
"Maybe on the outside," Brady answered.
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.