He’d have to come around to use it, Bowen thought. Or turn it over and shoot left-handed.
Bowen eased open the screen door and stepped outside. Instantly the sunlight struck him and he wanted to pull his hat brim closer to his eyes, but he hesitated with the thought of his hand momentarily in front of his face. Without thinking the word fear he realized it was fear that made him hesitate, and now, deliberately, he pulled the straw brim straight over his eyes, telling himself to relax and get hold of himself, before he brought up the Colt, cocking it as he did.
“Frank-”
Renda’s body twisted in the saddle. Seeing Bowen, his face showed surprise, but it was momentary and only in his eyes. He stared at Bowen intently, saying nothing, and Bowen could almost read what was passing through his mind.
“Don’t even think about it,” Bowen warned. “You wouldn’t get it halfway around.”
Renda seemed to relax. “You’ll never learn, will you? Put the gun down and tell Earl to come out.”
“Earl’s not in this.”
“He’s already gone?”
Bowen shook his head. “But he’s out of it. This is just between you and me.”
“Listen, you’re in enough trouble. Put the gun down.” Renda waited. The Colt remained leveled at him. “Corey, you’re going to strain yourself standing like that.” Renda’s left heel nudged the chestnut and its forelegs side-stepped toward the porch.
“Hold it!”
Renda was almost facing Bowen now. He smiled, saying, “You got poor nerves, Corey.”
“Let the shotgun drop and they’ll be all right.”
“What if it went off?”
“So will this if it does.”
“You won’t get more than a mile,” Renda said. “You know that. The Mimbres’ll be all over you.”
“Are you sure?”
Renda shrugged. “You ought to know it better than I do.”
“Let go of the shotgun, Frank.”
“If I don’t what’ll you do, shoot me?”
“I might have to.”
“Use your head. You got, what-six years to serve. You’d trade that for a rope?”
Bowen hesitated. Something was forming in his mind, but he was not yet sure if it could be developed. He said then, “What would you trade to stay alive?”
“I don’t see where I have to trade anything.”
Now, Bowen thought. “What about the letter you came for?”
Renda grinned. “Little Karla’s been telling you things.”
“Look at it this way,” Bowen said. “Would you give your life to try to get the letter?”
For a moment Renda was silent and he nodded thoughtfully. “I’ve been figuring you all wrong, haven’t I?”
“You see what it comes to?” Bowen said carefully.
Renda shrugged. “But I’m not even sure Karla’s got the letter.”
“You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.”
“The thing is,” Renda said slowly. “I don’t see you come out smelling any better than you went in. What do you get out of it?”
“I get what you trade for the letter.”
“So we’re making a deal.” Renda grinned. “I must be a little slow this morning.”
Bowen nodded. “But now everything’s clear.”
“Where’s the letter now?”
Bowen’s hand touched his pocket. “Right here.”
“Let’s see it.”
Bowen’s eyes remained on Renda as his hand went to his pocket and brought out the envelope Demery had given him. He glanced at it and saw it was addressed to Demery. “Frank, it says: to the District Supervisor, Bureau of”-Bowen looked up. “I can’t read all of Lizann’s writing.” Then, glancing at the envelope again, “Department of the Interior, Prescott, Arizona Territory…That mean anything to you?”
“I don’t know if it does,” Renda answered. “I haven’t read it. Have you?”
“I don’t have to-I’ve been living with you.”
Renda leaned forward. “Let’s see it.”
“Not till we talk about a swap.”
Renda was silent. “How about this?” he said then. “You give me the letter and I give you a ten-minute start. Take a horse and keep your gun.”
Bowen smiled faintly. “You believe in starting low.”
“You want a half hour?”
Get somewhere, Bowen thought, but said, still not sure where this would lead, “What about the Mimbres?”
“That’s your problem.”
Bowen shook his head. “They’re yours now.”
“All right…I’ll call them off.”
“How?”
“Ride ahead-tell them to let you through.”
“Even if I trusted you, I wouldn’t go for that.”
“You’re hard to please.” Renda paused, then said, “Here’s another way. You come back to the camp and we’ll fix it for you to slip out at night. You’d have about a six-hour start.”
“You’re bidding low again,” Bowen said. “The more I think about it, the more it looks like I’m only safe if I stay close to you. Even if I did get away I’d be hiding out the rest of my life…while you’re making all that money on the road.” He spoke slowly, thinking ahead of what he was saying and suddenly, there it was: a way to bring Falvey into it. A natural, part-of-the-conversation way that would arouse neither Renda’s suspicion nor Falvey’s-if he was listening. And Bowen thought, wanting to look around at the adobe but making himself keep his eyes on Renda: Willis, be listening!
He said then, “What I need, Frank, is a deal something like Willis Falvey’s. We’d each have something on the other, and we’d get along fine.”
Renda studied Bowen in silence.
“Fix me a deal like that, Frank. I get so much of your profits for not mailing the letter.”
“Somebody’s been talking to you,” Renda said quietly.
“Maybe it was Willis,” Bowen said. “Maybe he’s getting tired.”
“Willis knows better.”
“Maybe he’s so tired he’s going to stand up to you.”
“Where would he get the nerve?”
“He’s got it, Frank. He’s had enough all along to think of his wife first…to stay out of jail for her sake.”
“You think so, huh?”
“He made a mistake getting tied to you, but once he was in, it took nerve to keep going. The wrong kind of nerve, but at least you know he’s got it.” Bowen paused, thinking: You hear that, Willis? “Sometimes a man will put up with anything for his wife. That’s where you misjudged him.”
Renda said, “You don’t know as much about him as I thought.”
“But now,” Bowen went on, “he’s tired of it. He’s starting to think it would be worth going to jail for a year or two just to get it off his mind. He realizes now his wife would respect him more if he did. After that he’d be a free agent and all the Frank Rendas in the world could go to hell.”
“He knows he’d get more than a jail sentence,” Renda said. “I’d bust his head for him.”
“Would you?” Bowen paused. He said then, slowly, clearly, “Is that what you did to Lizann?”
Renda stared at him. “Karla didn’t forget anything, did she?”
“She’ll probably never forget it,” Bowen said, “seeing a woman beat up. Did you have a hard time?”
“She got what she asked for.”
“Frank, you’re a real fighter, aren’t you?” A sound came from the kitchen. Bowen heard it close behind him, but he was not sure what it was. “You fight women…and men with their hands tied behind them.”
Renda’s intent expression did not change. “You’re getting off the subject, aren’t you?”
“We’ve got time,” Bowen said easily. He was thinking, hurriedly: Keep him on it! “Frank, what’s it like to hit a woman?”
“You’re asking a lot of questions,” Renda said.
“Do you let her fight back?”
This time Renda did not answer.
“Or do you get her against the wall and just keep swinging at her?”
“You’re leading up to something,” Renda said cautiously.
“Frank, what’s Willis going to do when he finds out?”
“He’ll figure he’s lucky it didn’t happen to him.”
“You know what I’d do if I were Willis?” Bowen paused. “I’d take a pick handle to you.”
“You would, huh?”
Bowen nodded. “I’d crack you ten for every one time you hit her.”
Then, close behind him, not expecting it, the screen door swung open. As he heard it, Bowen moved aside, almost glancing back, but at the same moment, seeing the look of shocked surprise come over Renda’s face, he knew it was Willis Falvey, just as he knew, suddenly feeling more sure of himself, that Falvey had been listening all the time. Still watching Renda, he thought: If he moves hit him in the leg. He glanced quickly to the side then. Falvey was staring up at Renda, Lizann’s.25-caliber Colt in his hand.