"About twenty-four hours, actually," Prine said.
"The men you intend to bring to justice," Valdez said. "The men who sinned so gravely against your sister, Mr. Neville."
"Does this asshole ever shut up?" Rooney said. Even in a suit that now resembled dirty rags, there was still the air of a sharper about him. The almost pretty face, the cunning eyes, the air of shabby sophistication."
Valdez slapped him hard across the mouth. Blood stained the end of Rooney's lips. "A man who goes to mass every day does not want to hear language like this. I have told you that many times, Mr. Rooney."
Valdez turned to Neville. "Here is my end of the bargain. I assume you have your ready for me."
Neville laid ten thousand dollars on the desk. Once this was done, and without warning, he walked over to Tolan and smashed him in the nose. Crack of blood; spray of blood. But he wasn't done. He struck Tolan so hard in the sternum that Tolan shot backward, tripping over a chair and falling in an ungainly pile on the floor.
"Hey, Mex," Rooney said to Valdez. "You can't let them do this to us."
But it was too late to stop Neville. He used the toe of his Texas boot on Rooney, and judging from the screams, he used it effectively. Rooney tried to clutch his crotch, but the handcuffs made it difficult. He went to the floor in three folds, the last one giving him the freedom to slam his forehead hard against the floor. He was out.
Neville was about to kick him in the head, but Prine yanked on his arm.
"You've had your fun for the day," Prine said. "They're under my jurisdiction now and we're taking them back in one piece."
Neville was not happy.
"She wasn't your sister, Prine."
Prine decided not to tell Neville what his sister really thought of him.
They rode till late in the afternoon, covering about half the trek back home. Valdez had horses saddled and ready for the prisoners.
Prine and Neville rode in the back. Tolan and Rooney said little. A few times they talked with each other. Prine told them to shut up.
Neville was sullen. He was now more like the man Prine had met at recital the other night. When he did speak, there was an impudence to his tone that Prine resented. Neville was apparently under the impression that Prine worked for him.
"I have to piss," Rooney said over his shoulder.
"We'll make camp pretty soon," Prine said.
"I can't hold it."
"Then wet yourself, you bastard," Neville said. His had flew to his gun, but Prine was ahead of him. His Colt was aimed directly at Neville.
"I thought we had an agreement, Neville."
"Not that I know of."
"Put that hand back on the saddle horn."
"I can't take being around these two. All I see is Cassie."
"Then maybe you should ride on ahead a ways so you don't have to see them."
Neville sulked, said nothing.
"You hear what I said, Neville?"
"I heard."
"Then do we have an agreement? We get these prisoners back to Sheriff Daly the same condition they're in now."
Neville wouldn't give him the satisfaction of a verbal agreement. He just nodded his head.
They rode on.
The last two hours of the day's ride went slowly. Prine was eager to be back in Claybank. The curiously silent prisoners were risky enough, even when they were handcuffed, but Neville was the most dangerous of all. His rage over the fate of his sister, however understandable, kept Prine tensed up.
They would occasionally come upon a farm that looked perfect—always from a distance, of course, denying Prine the view of what the hardscrabble places looked like close up—the sort of place he sometimes daydreamed about owning. A pastoral life. Wife, kids, eating off the land.
But the grousing of the prisoners in front of him brought him back from his flights of idealized life. Neither Tolan nor Rooney appeared to be comfortable on horseback. Tolan complained about the horse wandering, the horse slowing, the horse speeding up—all defying Tolan's wishes.
Rooney was simply afraid of his animal. A couple of times, when the horse started to buck a little, Rooney let go with a childlike cry. Daddy, please come take me down from this terrible beast.
What a trio they were.
At any moment, Neville could decide the hell with it and open fire on the prisoners. Backshoot them. Kill them. It certainly wasn't impossible. Prine wanted to salvage this whole shameful episode by making it as right as he could. He wanted to bring his prisoners in alive and legal. And then he wanted to tell Sheriff Daly everything. Prine was responsible for Cassie's murder. The guilt would always be with him. But maybe by bringing in Tolan and Rooney, and telling the truth, he could start to make amends for the stupid, selfish plan for riches and power that had resulted in a young woman's death.
When they finally made camp within a small stand of elm trees, everybody got to stretch, piss, and give their saddle sores a rest. Tolan walked up a slight grassy incline. No reason a man couldn't run with handcuffs on. Men had done it plenty of times before. Prine decided to do a little law enforcement. He fired a single shot that chewed up dust right next to Tolan's wandering feet. Tolan, surprised and scared, jumped a quarter foot, then turned around and spat in Prine's direction.
"Next time you go sight-seeing," Prine told him, "you check with me first."
"Someday I'll have the gun," Tolan said. "We'll see how you like it then."
Prine took care of the horses. Got them watered and fed and bedded down for the night. He liked the horses far better than the men he was with.
Neville built a fire. It was a good one. Prine was surprised that Neville was good at the outdoors. He figured Neville would have all such things done by one of his manservants. He was probably being too hard on Neville. A man's sister murdered like that, he'd have one hell of a time keeping his hands off the killers.
Rooney was saying, "You won't believe this, Deputy, but my father is a very important lawyer back in Cincinnati."
"Good for him."
Rooney laughed. "They tell everybody I'm dead. I'm told my dear mother fainted dead away when my brother told her that the reason they hadn't been able to find me was that I was in prison."
"How many times I got to hear this stupid story?" Tolan said.
"Now, Tolan here," Rooney said, sounding awful pleased with himself for a man in handcuffs, "Tolan here was born under a rock. No known parents. When he wants lawmen to feel sorry for him, he always trots out all his stories about his little sister. He wants you to feel sorry for him. But he just makes himself more pathetic than he already is." Prine wasn't paying a hell of a lot of attention. He was hungry and waiting for food.
The grub they'd brought consisted of jerky and rolls. Neville had also brought some coffee and a tin pot. Prine was about the only one who could stand it. He'd been prepared for it by drinking Daly's coffee.
"I want you boys to move a little closer to the fire tonight," Prine said.
"Worried we might get cold, Deputy?" Rooney said. "That's right nice of you."
"I want you in range so I don't have any trouble seeing you."
"Gosh, and here I thought you were just worried about us getting cold."
Prine walked over to his saddle and plucked out his Winchester. He came back to Tolan and Rooney and said, "Stick your feet out."
"Why the hell should I?" Tolan said.
"Because I'm going to start breaking your toes one by one if you don't."
He took their boots off. Threw them in weeds a few yards from the campsite. Into the darkness.
"What the hell you do that for?" Tolan said.
"In case we try to make a break," Rooney said. "It'll take us some time to find our boots."
Tolan grinned. "I knew you was afraid of us, Deputy. You're tryin' to stack the whole deck in your favor tonight, right?"