“And a few shades paler,” Manring said.
There was a momentary silence before Bowen said, “You might be about to get your teeth kicked out.”
Manring pushed himself up. “You better go easy.” His eyes shifted to Pryde, then to Bowen again. “What for?”
“You told Renda I was going to jump the wagon.”
“Ike told me…the first day.”
Manring’s eyes went to Pryde again. “And what exactly did Ike tell you?”
“That Renda said something to you…like, ‘You said not till the grade.’ ”
“When was that?”
“Right after I jumped.”
Manring’s jaw relaxed. “How would Ike know? He’d just had his head busted with a Winchester.”
“But he was still awake.”
“All right.” Manring shrugged. “Maybe Renda said that. I don’t know-there was a lot of shooting going on. But if he said it, he didn’t say it to me.”
“Who would he say it to, Brazil?”
“Who else is there! Listen, you’re accusing me of something you don’t know anything about. Get your facts straight before you come marching in here like a couple of vigilantes!”
“I got mine straight,” Pryde said. “You know it and I know it.”
Manring shook his head. “After Brazil busted you, you started hearing things.”
“Corey might not be sure,” Pryde said. “But I am. I was there. I heard Renda say it right to your face-”
“What did I say to his face?”
Renda stood in the doorway behind them, then came forward a few steps as Bowen and Pryde half turned. “What did I say?”
Pryde shook his head. “Nothing.”
“Ike, you want to go back in the closet?”
Pryde did not answer and for a long moment Renda stared at him. His eyes moved to Bowen then. “You two spend three weeks in the house and when I let you out you come right back in.” He paused. “You like being inside?” He answered his own question saying, “All right, we’ll give you some inside work. Ike, you and your friend Corey go over and clean out the stable. Rub down the horses, too.” He turned to go, then looked back. “And Ike…don’t come out till the sun goes down.”
Lizann Falvey watched her husband finish the whiskey in his glass, seeing his hand come down slowly to the table and release the glass almost reluctantly. The table was across the room, at least a dozen feet away, but she could see that the bottle was empty.
Now a trip to Fuegos, she thought. She was sitting in a canvas chair studying Willis and wondering how long he would last.
He’ll go to Fuegos to finish what he has started and come back tomorrow with six bottles, three in each saddle bag. You can look forward to that. And in a few days you can look forward to it again. Then again…and again-
She sat and watched him, waiting. Waiting for him to look up from the table, but he continued to study the label of the whisky bottle and finally she said, “Willis-”
His head turned. “What?”
“In the top drawer of my dresser,” Lizann said, “there’s a gun. I believe you called it a.25-caliber Colt. Why don’t you take it and go for a ride up into the hills.”
Willis frowned. “What?”
“Or just go behind the adobe,” Lizann said. “I thought at first I’d rather not hear the shot, but on second thought it really wouldn’t matter.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“I’m not trying to say anything. I’m telling you to put a gun to your head and be done with it.”
The whisky had relaxed him, had made him drowsy and it cushioned somewhat the shock of her words. His expression scarcely changed.
“You sincerely hate me, don’t you?”
Lizann shook her head. “That’s putting it too simply. I suppose there are moments when I think I hate you, but most of the time I can feel only disgust. You hate a man like Frank Renda who is strong enough to be hated and you would hate even a memory of him. With your kind, Willis, you feel either sorrow or disgust and when that’s passed you’re hardly worth a memory-a feeling of indifference at best.”
Willis stared. “Why don’t you leave me?”
“Don’t you think I would if I could?”
“What’s stopping you?”
“What’s stopping me?” Lizann repeated without tone in her voice. “Willis, I think I’m beginning to feel sorry for you. You don’t even fully realize the kind of man you’re dealing with. Do you think Frank Renda would let me leave?”
“You go for rides. You could keep going.”
“I have never gone out without one of Salvaje’s men following me.”
“I go to Fuegos,” Willis said. “No one follows me.”
“Renda doesn’t have to watch you. He even admitted that. You’re your own watchdog, Willis.”
“Renda’s very sure of himself.”
Lizann shrugged. “He’s in a position to be.” Her expression softened then. “But, Willis…he doesn’t have any more on you than you do on him.”
“So?”
“So…report him.”
“Just like that.”
“Be a man one time in your life!”
“Which is easy for you to say. But you’re not the one that goes to prison.”
“You’re already in prison. We both are.”
“Then,” Willis said, “we might as well stay where we are.”
Lizann rose from the chair and walked to the window. Her gaze went over the yard to the convicts sitting and leaning against the front of the barracks, then came back as she saw Frank Renda leave the shade of the ramada and start across toward them. Her eyes followed him until he reached the barracks and went in the first door, then she turned to her husband again.
“Are you going to Fuegos today?”
Willis looked up. “I thought I would.”
“Willis…when you get there, what would stop you from taking the stage to Tucson?”
His breath came out wearily and he shook his head.
“Listen to me! In Tucson you could write to the Bureau. Within two weeks someone would be here to investigate.”
“And two weeks later I’d be in jail.”
“No! After you send the letter, go somewhere else.”
“Would you meet me?”
Lizann hesitated. “Haven’t you had enough of this?”
“If I thought we could start over-”
“There is only one way to do that, Willis. But not together. God knows, not together. Think about getting out of here. Let what comes later take care of itself.”
He shook his head then. “Sooner or later I’d be caught. Going to prison is one thing. Perhaps I could take a year or so of it to get out of this mess. But I’d also be killing my career.”
“Your career!” Lizann’s voice rose. “A bookkeeper in a convict camp! That’s your career-that’s what your big political friends think of you. They’ve put you away, out of their hair. Don’t you realize that?”
“You didn’t think that way a year ago,” Willis said.
“I’m talking about now!”
“When you married me,” Willis said, “you were sure I had a future. Or else you wouldn’t have considered it.”
“With a clean collar on,” Lizann said, “you can fool almost anyone.”
Willis was silent, studying the bottle again. Lizann waited. Finally he looked up. “It wouldn’t be worth the chance.”
“How do you know, unless you try it?”
He shook his head. “I’d be hiding out the rest of my life.”
“I wouldn’t,” Lizann said calmly. “I’m asking you to do it for me.”
He looked at her as if to answer, but his gaze dropped and he pushed himself up from the table. Lizann watched him go into the bedroom and when he reappeared, moving past her without raising his eyes, he was carrying his hat and saddle bags. She saw him hesitate as he opened the door and he turned to her again.
“I’m sorry, Lizann. I’m sincerely sorry.”
“For me, Willis…or for yourself?”
“I think for both of us.” He stepped outside, closing the door behind him.
Lizann turned to the window again. She was watching her husband cross the yard when Bowen and Pryde came out of the barracks and followed Willis to the stable.
So he’s out, Lizann thought. Why couldn’t he have been Willis?