Роберт Паркер - Robert B. Parker's Revelation

“My God, is she all right?”

“Yes, thank goodness, she wasn’t bitten. But can you imagine? In bed, of all places?”

“A snake in the bed?” he said.

“A rattlesnake,” she said. “It was on her pillow. Can you imagine?”

“No,” he said. “I can’t imagine.”

The three men we shot at the Montezuma bathhouses turned out were in fact Timothy Eckford, Willard Calyer, and Charlie Ravenscroft.

After the shootout, I pulled Ravenscroft from the creek where he had fallen. When I dragged him up on the deck of the steam pool, he moved slightly. He was bleeding profusely from the two bullets he received. My first shot hit him on the side just under his arm and the second was in the chest, but for a moment he breathed some and opened his eyes. He had that frightened expression, that look I’d seen many times before: the countenance of a man who knows he’s dying. Ravenscroft stared at me with a curious look on his face. Then he smiled a little and said, “Everett Hitch.”

“It is, Charlie,” I said to him.

“I’ll be go to hell,” he said, and then he did just that, he went straight to hell, and the incident in the steamy bathhouse ended.

We left Montezuma early the following morning and took the train back to Yaqui to collect Skillman and Dobbin and return them to Cibola.

We wasted little time in Yaqui. We remained there only long enough to determine details from the deputies in the sheriff’s office that let us know Sheriff Stringer and his posse had yet to come back with Ed Degraw and that the wire service to Cibola was still inexplicably out of service.

We rode the whole second half of the day with Skillman and Dobbin in tow. We camped that night, broke camp an hour before sunrise, and arrived at the prison the following day just before noon.

As we neared the prison, two guards looked out of a wide opening of a stone building that sat on a rise a few hundred yards before the prison’s entrance. As we got a bit closer they came out to the road to meet us. Virgil moved his lapel and showed his badge. One of the guards, an older, stern-looking man with a gray beard, stood back as if he were leery. The other guard was a barrel-bodied, redheaded fellow carrying a Sharps fifty-caliber. He nodded as he walked closer to us.

“And you are?” he said.

“I’m Marshal Cole. This is Deputy Marshal Hitch. And these fellas here are two of the men who escaped.”

He looked to Skillman and Dobbin, then said, “Welcome back.”

“Telegraph lines working now?” I said.

The younger guard turned to the older guard and the older guard shook his head.

“Don’t think so,” the young guard said. “We haven’t been inside today.”

The older guard came a bit closer and said, “Where did you catch these two?”

Virgil looked to Skillman and Dobbin, then back to me.

“One in Vadito,” I said. “One in Yaqui.”

“And the others?” he said.

“So far, the others were not as lucky as these two here,” I said.

The older man eyed Skillman and Dobbin for a moment.

“Thought you fellas could get away with this?” he said.

Dobbin just glared and Skillman did not look up as the guard moved a bit toward them. He shook his head, then looked to Virgil.

“We can get you to the warden,” he said.

“Sure he’ll be appreciative ’bout this,” the younger guard said. “He’s not in the yard, though. He’s up at his house.”

He pointed to a cluster of buildings on a rise about a quarter of a mile away.

“Need to get these two back inside first,” the older guard said. “No prisoners are allowed near the quarters.”

“That’s what we brought them back for,” I said.

“After you,” Virgil said.

The older guard nodded to the younger.

“Go ahead,” he said.

The young guard moved quickly for a hefty fellow as he opened the gate of a small corral and led out a stocky, short bay horse. He slid his rifle into a scabbard, tightened the cinch, then stepped up easily into the saddle.

“This way,” he said.

The older man watched us for a moment, then moved back toward the building as the big man led us toward the prison. After a moment he slowed and the three of us rode abreast.

“How did you find them?” he said.

Virgil said nothing. Virgil never did say much of anything when it came to answering questions.

“I’m Mickey, by the way, Mickey Dodd.”

“Well, one thing just led to another, Mickey,” I said. “’Bout all I can tell you.”

He nodded, then looked back to Skillman and Dobbin.

“I’ve been working here since the place opened, twelve years ago. Since that time we had just one escape and he was caught the following day, but this... well, my God, this is just... hell, crazy as all hell is the only thing you can say for it.”

“How many people are there here?” Virgil said.

“Inmates or workers?”

“Both.”

“Well, we are overcrowded here. ’Bout three hundred inmates and ten to fifteen workers; most are guards, and of course there is support staff, too, cooks, cleaners, and such.”

I looked back to Skillman.

“Our prisoners have been tight-lipped and offered up nothing about how this happened, really. What do you know about how these men got out?”

“We don’t know nothing, either... Least I don’t.”

He pointed up to the warden’s place and shook his head.

“Warden Flushing has not really been out since this happened,” Mickey said. “Think he’s taken this hard. Kenneth Tillary is his chief assistant and he’s the one who has been handling things.”

“And you don’t know anything about the escape?”

“Nope, it was late, sometime in the middle of the night, and I was not there, I was on day shift. But Mr. Smith back there, he’s the outside boss, he was there and he didn’t see or hear anything. Fact of the matter is, at least from what I know, no one saw anything. All I know is Benny and Chuck, two guards inside, were killed. That is all I know. I kind of thought the warden would have gathered us and at least offered up something, said something by now, but he has not. I guess he can’t believe it, I don’t know. Hell of a deal, though... it’s like they just vanished.”

The warden’s assistant, Kenneth Tillary, met us inside the prison walls. He was a thin, older, sunbaked man with silver hair and wise blue eyes behind thick spectacles. He was pleasant enough as he collected Skillman and Dobbin. For the moment he treated the men kindly, as if they had never escaped. He avoided asking about the other escaped men and remained focused on reprocessing Skillman and Dobbin. After a short but formal explanation of what would happen to the men once the circuit judge came through, he instructed two guards to return the two men to their cells. Virgil and I watched as the escapees were quickly hustled away. Skillman looked back to Virgil.

“They’ve both suffered wounds,” I said.

The guards that were moving them off acted as if they did not hear me or did not give a shit.

“Why don’t you fellas come into my office,” Tillary said, then looked to Mickey. “I’ll take care of the marshals from here.”

“I was gonna take them up—”

Tillary interrupted, “Thank you, Mickey, that will be all.”

Mickey looked at us, nodded and said, “Good to meet you.” Then took off on the bay horse. A couple guards pushed the gates open and Mickey galloped off back to the entry station as the doors were closed behind him.

We walked with Tillary across the compound and toward the northwest corner office.

“Is your telegraph back in service?” I said.