Sharpe said: “Always figured I’d make a dang’ good lawman! Got that square look.”
Everyone laughed. Jordan’s body tensed. Sharpe was no deputy—he was an outlaw, too. And so were Tubo Frick and Barney Rosen. He had been wrong all the way. He shifted to where he had a better view of the cabin’s interior. Olivia Woodward sat on the edge of a cot upon which the saddlebags had been laid. The pouches were open and the money was partially visible. Sharpe leaned against a crudely built table, a bottle in his hand. Squatted on their heels, backs pressed against a wall, were Rosen and Frick.
“Well, you sure was right,” Frick said, fumbling with his cigarette makings. “You kept sayin’ if we watched that road long enough, old Walt’d show up. He didn’t, but the money sure did.”
Sharpe nodded, took a drink from the bottle, and handed it to Rosen. “When I saw him line out that night after we robbed the bank, I knew he was bad hit. I aimed to follow and then some of that damned posse got on my tail, and I lost him. Didn’t worry me none, however. I figured he’d come wagging back to Olivia sooner or later. Or, if he couldn’t make it, he’d be sucker enough to send the money to her somehow.”
Olivia Woodward turned to Sharpe. “That’s why you’ve been playing the good family friend so much here lately. You were keeping an eye on me.”
“Man looks after his own interests,” Sharpe said.
She nodded. “I still come in for my share …Walt’s share, don’t I, Al?”
Sharpe grinned. “I got a better idea. Two shares make one big one. Why don’t you and me tie up? Won’t have to be worrying about Walt now. Could have ourselves quite a time with ten thousand dollars.”
Olivia Woodward shrugged. “Sure, why not?”
Sharpe studied her for several moments. “Never could figure what you seen in Walt. He sure wasn’t your kind.”
“He was good to me,” the woman said tiredly. “And he usually had some money.”
“We’ll have plenty of that from now on,” Sharpe said. “And when this runs out, the boys and me’ll find us another hick town bank to bust open.”
The woman looked down. “And you’ll die out in the brush somewhere, just like Walt did, someday. I had a feeling the night you came over to the house and planned it all out … a feeling that something bad was going to happen …”
“None of that now!” Sharpe broke in. “You’re sounding like a wife already and I won’t have it.”
Olivia moved her shoulders in a faint gesture of resignation. She extended her hand to Rosen for the whiskey bottle. She took a swallow, shuddered, passed it on to Tubo Frick. “I’ll never learn to like that stuff,” she murmured. “When do we leave, Al?”
“Soon as it’s dark.”
“I don’t think we ought to wait that long.”
“Why not? We sure don’t want nobody seeing us leaving the country.”
“That cowboy, Jordan, that brought the money. He was pretty upset when he found out you hadn’t given it to me. I think I smoothed it over but he still might go to the marshal, and start asking questions.”
“Let him,” Sharpe said. “And if he comes around again, tell him you’ve got it … the money your loving husband sent you for selling his ranch.” Sharpe began to laugh, unable to continue. Frick and Rosen joined in but Olivia Woodward only smiled. “Old Walt sure must’ve given him a yarn. And making him promise to tote all that money to his poor little wife, come hell or high water. Lord, what a sucker.”
Ben Jordan felt his face begin to burn. He had been a sucker, a greenhorn from the word go. Woodward had really taken him in.
“He’s an honest man,” Olivia said in a quiet voice. “Something we’ve all forgot how to be.”
“No difference,” Rosen observed dryly. “A sucker and an honest man is the same thing.”
“Maybe Walt wasn’t playing him for a sucker so much as he was interested in getting the money to us, so I could have his share,” the woman said. “I’d like to think that’s the way it was. And it could be.”
“Sure, sure,” Sharpe said impatiently. “But Walt’s dead, gone, buried. He done us a favor, getting the cash to us after he got shot up and knew he wasn’t going to make it. That’s fine, but forget about it and him. Does no good to keep hashing over the dead.”
“I’m for that,” Rosen said, wagging his head. “Gives a man the creeps.”
Sharpe reached down, picked up a packet of the currency. He rifled the edges thoughtfully. “Maybe you ought to go back to your house,” he said, settling his attention on the woman. “Just in case that greenhorn does take Bardett over to see you. We’ll swing by when it’s time and pick you up.”
Distrust was frank on Olivia Woodward’s features. “No, I’ll stay here. I think we ought to leave now, but if you don’t, all right, we’ll wait.”
Sharpe laughed. “Afraid we might forget to come by?”
Olivia said, “Yes,” in a bold, candid way.
Sharpe roared with laughter. “That’s right, girl. Don’t trust nobody. Look out for yourself.”
“What we goin’ to do about eatin’?” Frick asked. “Barney ain’t got nothin’ here in his shack. You reckon it’s safe for one of us to go into town?”
“No,” Sharpe answered. “Might run into that Jordan. He’s still waiting for me to tell him he can pull out.”
“How about Ollie then? Nobody’d pay any mind to her.”
“I’m not leaving here,” the woman said stubbornly. “If you want some food, one of you run over to my place and help yourself. You’re not likely to bump into that cowboy there. He wasn’t coming back until dark.”
“Coming to your house?” Sharpe asked.
“For supper. Wanted me to sign some papers giving him Walt’s horse.”
“A horse,” Frick said. “We’ll be needin’ one for Ollie. Where’ll we get one?”
Sharpe thought for a moment. “Guess I should have grabbed Walt’s sorrel when I had the chance. You know people around here, Barney. Where can we get a nag for her?”
“Rancher about ten miles east of here. Reckon we can get one from him.”
“Settles that. Ollie can ride double with me until we get there. We’ll figure to eat and get ourselves some grub from that rancher, too.”
Ben pulled back from the window, crouched low in the brush. He had all the answers now, but the problem that faced him was how to recover the money and capture the outlaws. Once accomplished he could turn them and the saddlebags over to Marshal Bardett—or to Bart Crawford—it didn’t matter to whom. He considered the advisability of moving in on the men, but the odds were too long. It would be his one gun against three desperate outlaws, plus possibly Olivia Woodward, who showed every sign of being as coolly efficient as they were. And the arrangement of the cabin would double his problem. After a moment he discarded the idea. He could not afford to make a mistake now; already he had allowed himself to be made a fool. This time he must be sure.
Bardett—the town marshal. There was the solution. Sharpe and the others planned to stay in the shack until dark. There would be plenty of time to ride to Langford, locate the lawman, recruit a posse, and return. But why go that far? Why not call on Bart Crawford and his deputies? To allow him and his men to make the capture would undoubtedly ease some of the hard feeling that existed between the lawmen and himself. And they were somewhere close by.
On his hands and knees Ben started back for the gelding. He could hear Al Sharpe off on another tale of some sort, one that was providing much laughter for Tubo Frick and Barney Rosen. He could not hear Olivia Woodward’s voice. Apparently she was not finding Al Sharpe’s words amusing. That the widow had little use for the companions of her late husband was evident, but it was also clear that she was determined to have her share of the stolen money. Still low, Jordan reached the stand of thick growth where he had hidden the sorrel. He was on the verge of rising when Bart Crawford’s voice, in a hoarse whisper and coming from only a few steps ahead, halted him. “His horse, all right. Means he’s around close. Now, I want him … any way you can get him … dead or alive.”