ROBERT PARKER - Appaloosa

“So you folks are going to have to unshackle Bragg and parade him on out here, or she gets killed.”

Stringer had brought the Winchester to his shoulder.

“I got you in my sights,” he said. “Whatever happens to her, you’re dead.”

Ring smiled gently.

“What do you think, Virgil?” Ring said. “Think I’ll get scared and change my mind?”

“Put the rifle down,” Cole said to Stringer.

“This ain’t your jurisdiction, Cole,” Stringer said.

“Put it down,” Cole said.

Stringer held still. Two of his deputies were on the platform behind me with Winchesters.

“I’ll kill anybody don’t lower their rifles,” Cole said.

It was like a painting, everyone frozen in color and time with the rolling, hardscrabble land stretching out to the horizon.

Then Stringer lowered his Winchester.

“Lower ’em, boys,” he said.

And the two deputies dropped the rifle barrels toward the ground.

“We give you Bragg, you give us the woman,” Cole said.

Ring laughed.

“Virgil, you know I ain’t that dumb. You give us Bragg. We keep the woman. You ride off on the train, and when it’s out of sight, we cut her loose.”

The few passengers in the other cars had gathered on our side of the train and were looking out the windows. Cole ignored them. His whole focus was on Allie and the Sheltons. He stood as he had since he’d stepped down from the train. He had not moved. He didn’t move now.

Then he said, “Everett, get Bragg.”

I looked at Stringer.

“It’ll go easier with the other deputy,” I said, “if you do it.”

Stringer held my look for a minute. Then he nodded and turned and walked back into the train. In the silence I thought I could hear Allie sniveling. Neither of the Shelton brothers paid any attention to her except for the steady pressure of the shotgun against her neck. Then Stringer came out with Bragg. He had taken off the handcuffs and the leg shackles. Bragg stepped past him when he reached the door, and jumped down from the train and walked to the riderless horse, and swung into the saddle.

“Gimme a gun,” he said to Ring.

“Why?”

“Cole,” Bragg said. “I’m going to shoot the sonova bitch.”

If Cole heard him, he made no sign. His gaze remained steady on the riders.

“Ain’t part of the deal,” Ring said, and began to turn his horse slowly.

“Turn with us, darlin’,” he said to Allie.

“Goddamn it, you work for me, gimme a fucking gun,” Bragg said.

“I hired on to get you loose,” Ring said. “You’re loose. You keep yappin’ and I’ll leave you and the girl right here.”

Bragg opened his mouth and closed it. He glanced down at Cole.

“Another time,” he said.

Cole didn’t move.

“We’ll ride off now,” Ring said. “No hurry. We can see a long way, so best you get the train rolling, because we ain’t cutting her loose until the train is out of sight, and that’s a ways down the track.”

With the rope around Allie’s neck tied to Ring’s saddle, and Mackie on the other side with the shotgun against her neck, the three of them had to wheel in formation. Which they did slowly.

“Bragg, you lead on out,” Ring said.

Bragg glanced back at us as he rode away. Allie didn’t, nor did the Sheltons.

It took the train more than a half hour to get around the far bend and stop and back up. Cole stood on the back platform of it and said nothing as he watched the riders move away south down the dry wash. He stayed where he was and said nothing for the full half hour after the riders were no longer in sight and the train had gone around the bend and stopped and backed slowly up. When we got back to the water tower, Allie wasn’t there. Virgil stepped off the train and walked toward the wash. Stringer started to walk after him.

“Stay away from him,” I said.

“The bastards said they’d leave her here.”

“They’re safer if they got her,” I said.

“You knew they were lying.”

“We both knew,” I said. “But there wasn’t nothing to be done about it. “

“We got to discuss this,” Stringer said.

“Discuss it with me,” I said. “Don’t try to talk to Virgil.”

Stringer stared after Virgil.

“We got no horses,” Stringer said. “We can’t go after them on foot.”

I nodded.

“We’ll go back to town and get some,” I said.

“Quicker Cole gets back here,” Stringer said, “quicker we’re on our way.”

“He won’t come back,” I said.

“Won’t come back?”

I shook my head.

“Wait for me,” I said and walked after Cole.

Cole was standing on the little bridge over the wash, looking south down the wash.

I said, “We got no horses, Virgil.”

A half mile or so away, the wash curved slightly west and you couldn’t see down it anymore.

“I’ll ride the train on to Yaqui and get some.”

Cole still held the Winchester exactly as he had held it when he was talking to the Sheltons. He was squinting into the sun as he looked southwest along the wash. His face, half shielded by his hat’s brim, was without expression.

“I’ll bring the horses back here,” I said, “and if you ain’t here, I’ll follow you down the wash.”

Cole turned suddenly and walked off the bridge and began to edge down the side of the dry wash.

“You leave the wash,” I said. “Leave me a sign.”

Cole didn’t answer or look at me. He started walking southwest along the flat bottom of the wash, looking at the tracks in the dirt. I went back and got aboard the train.

We didn’t get to Yaqui until after six that night. Stringer, being a deputy, could roust people around a little and, even though some of the stores were closed in Yaqui, I was on the way back to Chester by 8:15 with three horses and a pack mule carrying supplies. There was a good moon, and the stars were bright, and all I had to do was follow the tracks.

When I got to the water tower, the moon was nearly down, but the sky to the east was still dark. I let the horses and the mule drink from a trough near the windmill. There was nothing moving in the wash. If I started down there now, in the dark, I couldn’t read the tracks, and if Cole had left me a sign, I might not see it. This wasn’t going to be a quarter-mile horse race. This would be a long ride. Long rides went better when you didn’t hurry. I tethered the animals, gave them some feed, and ate a can of peaches. I sat down with my back against the railroad shed and slept for a while, facing east, so the sunrise would wake me up. Which it did. It was slow going down the wash, trailing three animals. I thought about driving them ahead of me, but that would have wiped out any tracks that the Sheltons, and Cole, left. Next spring the wash would be roiling with water until summer. But right now it was dry as dust, with the little rivulet patterns of the spring torrent showing on the bottom. The hoofprints from the Sheltons’ horses were clear enough, and among them I could see Cole’s boot prints. They had a twelve-hour start on me, but sooner or later I’d catch up with Cole, and then, sooner or later, we’d catch up with Allie.

I had matches wrapped up in oilcloth in my shirt pocket. I had a Winchester in a saddle scabbard under my left leg, and the eight-gauge under my right. I had two canteens slung over the saddle horn. I had a .45- caliber Colt on my belt and a bowie knife. Wrapped in a slicker and tied behind my saddle was a change of clothes. Cole would have to make do with what he was wearing. I had ammunition and food and water and whiskey and a few sundries on the mule.