EIGHT

Wage Carson had reluctantly removed his gunsights from Jay Champion’s bulky body. Still not knowing where the other two outlaws were he was reluctant to fire, and his focus had shifted to other concerns. That is, he knew where Jay was and had no real reason to take him down from ambush. If the outlaw leader did choose to make a run for it, well, Laredo was positioned somewhere along the road out of town. Champion was effectively hemmed in.

Wage was now more concerned about the town – his town. Had Bert and Virgil Sly slipped down there for some reason? To gather horses, for example. Wage was worried about Josh Banks now and, more deeply than he was willing to admit, about Liza.

He rode his gray horse down the sage-stippled slope and guided it toward the marshal’s office. If anything was amiss, Josh would presumably know. Everything was still – silent in the dry heat of morning. Wage walked his horse toward the marshal’s office. He saw no one in front of the hotel, no movement inside the saloon.

The quiet of the day held for only seconds longer.

Virgil Sly emerged from the stable, leading Josh Banks’s white-eared mule. Across the street, Josh who must have been watching, came on to the porch of the marshal’s office with his Winchester at his shoulder.

‘Stop, thief!’ Wage heard Josh shout, and then the loud crack of his Winchester rifle echoed along the street. Behind Wage two soldiers emerged from the saloon, rifles in their hands. Wage himself dived from the saddle to the powder-dry earth of the street as he recognized that the gunman, Virgil Sly, now crouched behind the mule, was ready and willing to fire back.

Sly’s first two bullets drove Josh Banks to cover inside the jailhouse as his near shots pocked the adobe walls. Josh dropped his rifle and rolled inside, saving himself. The two soldiers were not so fortunate.

Private Boggs loosed a shot from his slow-loading .45-.70 Springfield in Sly’s direction, missed and was shot as he tried to fumble another cartridge into the breech. From fifty yards away Virgil Sly caught Boggs in the heart with a bullet from his Colt.

Cherry had no better luck. The soldier’s shot did nothing but stampede the mule, but Sly, firing from one knee, caught him with a bullet which went through the big trooper from side to side, and Cherry buckled at the knees and went down.

Sly grabbed for the mule’s reins, felt the leather ribbons slip through his gloved hands and bolted for the shelter of the alley next to the stable. Wage Carson, afoot, went after him, letting the gray horse run free.

Sly, running on, cursed as long as his breath could sustain his anger. He thumbed fresh loads into the cylinder of his Colt as he ran, dropping a few of the brass cartridges in his haste. He slowed, closed the loading gate of his pistol and leaned against the heated wall of a building he took for the saloon.

Damn all! He had been so close. Now this.

But after all, he considered, there was no one on his trail but one hick marshal who knew what a gun was for but had never seen a master craftsman at his trade with a blue-steel Colt. The kid would blunder; he was bound to. Virgil Sly did not make mistakes when it came to shooting.

All right then, Sly thought, catching his breath. Take it to the marshal or wait him out? Sly decided to wait. The odds were better that way. Let the unskilled oaf stumble, slip, poke his head around a corner and he was done.

Better yet – Sly was thinking as he eyed the back door of the saloon – the kid was inexperienced enough to respect human life. Hostages might multiply Sly’s chances enormously. He slipped inside the saloon and came face to face with Liza.

‘Hello, kid,’ Sly said with soft menace, locking the door behind him.

Liza tried to scream, but her constricted throat was knotted into silence. Sly put his callused hand over her mouth.

‘Do you know who I am?’ he asked.

‘No,’ Liza answered.

‘The name is Virgil Sly. I’ve killed half a hundred men including two today. I am a man without mercy, kid. You do as I say and you might survive. Who’s out there?’ he asked, lifting his chin toward the saloon’s ballroom. He relaxed his grip enough for her to answer.

‘Just the girls.’

‘No soldiers?’

‘I think … I think they’re all dead,’ Liza answered. She held her head low, but her eyes were alight with dark fire. Sly lifted her chin with his thumb.

‘You’d better be right. I don’t like killing women – they have their uses – but it’s been known to happen on occasion.’

He then forced her through the inner door toward the ballroom where the three other women, in various stages of dress and composure sat huddled near the whiskey barrel. Rebecca and Madeline registered astonishment; Cora Kellogg, whom nothing much surprised after her years hustling a dollar on the desert, only showed grim concern.

‘Leave that young girl alone!’ Cora shouted robustly.

Virgil Sly grinned an answer and shoved Liza aside. She stumbled, more with the unexpectedness of the movement than from Sly’s force and fell to the plank floor.

‘Y’all stand back just a few paces, ladies,’ Sly said, gesturing with his pistol. ‘I believe I could use a little sip of that honeydew myself just now.’ So saying, Sly moved to the whiskey barrel and, using a glass which one of the girls had left there, he tapped it for a healthy double-shot.

‘Awful stuff,’ Sly commented after he had downed it. ‘We used to sell better whiskey to the Indians.’

‘What do you want?’ Cora demanded brashly. Liza had managed to rise from the saloon floor and she dusted off her jeans, backing away from Sly as the others had done.

‘Me, ma’am?’ Sly replied, and it was difficult to tell if he was trying to be funny or not. ‘I’m just wanting to leave this town in one piece. I thought you might be of some help there.’

The front door opened and Sly swung the sights of his pistol that way automatically. It was Cherry, who had somehow survived being shot through his body from arm to arm. He was bleeding profusely and angry. He did not seem, however, to recognize Sly as the man who had done the shooting. He lifted one hand toward Cora Kellogg and murmured, ‘Cora, I need some help.’ Then he folded up on himself and fell to the floor.

Cora looked at Sly for permission.

‘Do what you can,’ Virgil Sly said tightly. ‘Hell, I had nothing against the man until he tried to gun me down.’

‘Now what are you going to do?’ the little firebrand of a girl demanded. Sly glanced at Liza, appreciating her nerve. The other women were lush and interesting, but they had shown no spine.

‘I already told you, girl. I’m getting out of here. Someone is going along with me – maybe all of you. I don’t want anyone, the marshal, that deputy, nobody else taking shots at me as I do so.’

‘Virgil Sly, the notorious badman taking shelter behind a woman’s skirts,’ Liza shot back.

‘Yes, miss,’ Sly said after due consideration. ‘There’s a reason we come to be called notorious. Thank you for making up my mind. I’ll take you. Let these … others sit here and cry in their lace handkerchiefs.’

‘No you don’t!’ Cora Kellogg who had been trying to help Cherry shouted, ‘Not the child. Take me, Sly.’

‘You heard me, ma’am. I don’t think this is time for a debate. I’m taking the youngster and going to the stable. Your man with the banjo is going to hitch up the surrey and I’m leaving town with the girl at my side.’ His voice dropped to a low menace. ‘Make sure no one follows after. It wouldn’t be good for her safety.’

‘You wouldn’t!’ Cora said, striding forward, hands on her ample hips.

‘Of course I would, ma’am,’ Sly replied, refilling his whiskey glass. ‘I’m quite – what did she say, notorious? – to my very core if my own well-being is in the balance.’

‘You’re cruel!’ Cora shrieked.

Sly drank his whiskey and only smiled. ‘Yes. Notorious and cruel. Do you think that a good woman could change me?’

If Sly’s expression could be called a smile, it was the most evil smile Cora had ever seen. She had no doubt that Virgil Sly would do whatever it took to achieve his ends.

‘All right,’ Cora said trying to appease the homicidal Sly, ‘I’ll go along with you and tell Gus to harness the team.’

‘That’s all right, ma’am, I’m sure the little girl here can speak. I can’t see why we’d need your assistance.’

Sly reached out a hand and grabbed Liza’s arm, pulling her to him. ‘Let’s get going,’ Sly said. To the others he said, ‘You ladies stay here and stay quiet. Understand?’

Sly had entered by the saloon’s back door. Now, however, with Liza as a hostage, he chose to leave from the front of the building. On the porch he paused for a minute to allow his eyes to adjust to the brilliant sunlight and to sweep the street with his eyes for Wage Carson. Where had the big deputy gotten to?

Satisfied that the way was clear, he shoved Liza on ahead of him and marched behind her toward the stable, gun held loosely beside his leg. ‘Don’t get any ideas,’ Sly said with soft menace. ‘I’d hate to have to nick you and have to carry you.’

‘Where are you taking me?’ Liza found the courage to ask.

‘That depends on a number of things – mostly on how far anyone tries to pursue me.’

‘The marshal will come after you,’ Liza said forcefully. ‘He’ll never quit as long as I’m with you.’

‘He’d better think that through twice.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean,’ Sly said, ‘which way puts you in more danger? If he comes there will be shooting. If he leaves me alone I’ll probably just drop you off a few miles down the trail.’

‘You promise that?’

‘No. I don’t make promises, girl. Just remember to do as you’re told and you should make out all right. I don’t want to carry any extra baggage on the trail.’

They made their way to the relative coolness of the stable under a white sky and eased into the shadows of the building, Sly letting his eyes search every square inch of the building before he was satisfied. Liza, just behind him, her arm still in his grip, trembled slightly. She did not like this man.

‘What is it?’ Gus Travers asked, peering out of the canvas flap at the rear of the Conestoga wagon. ‘I thought I heard someone. Oh, it’s you again! Didn’t get far, did you?’

‘I will this time. What’d you say your name was?’ Sly demanded.

‘Gus,’ Travers said with an uneasy glance at Liza who was obviously being restrained.

‘Come on out of there, Gus.’ Sly ordered him. ‘Don’t get any ideas of gunplay.’

‘Mister, as I told you before, I haven’t a weapon of any kind, except my banjo. Though some people say my playing kills them.’

No one smiled in response to the weak joke.

‘Just clamber on down,’ Sly told him. ‘I need you to hitch up that surrey out back. I assume those matched blacks are the team for it.’

‘They are,’ Gus answered. Rumpled, bleary-eyed after the long night and the morning’s excitement, he clambered from the wagon, hitching up his suspenders over scrawny shoulders. ‘Did Miss Cora give you anything by way of instructions for me?’

‘She did,’ Sly said in a low voice. ‘She told me just to keep jabbing the muzzle of this Colt into your belly until you did what I asked.’

‘Oh, it’s like that, is it?’ Gus said.

Liza interceded, ‘Just do it, Gus, please!’

Gus hesitated, then said, ‘All right, Liza.’

‘Be quick about it,’ Sly said, ‘and quiet. Take the horses out back and we’ll follow you.’ They did follow Gus as he walked the matched black horses to the sun-bright alley where the surrey stood, but Sly, still holding Liza’s arm in an iron grip, did not emerge from the shadows. He stood watching with his wolf eyes as the old man went about his work.

‘Is there any water in here?’ Sly asked Liza.

‘I don’t know. There must be, for the horses.’

‘Find the water. Find a canteen and fill it,’ Sly ordered as he suddenly released Liza, shoving her away from him. ‘It’s going to be a long hot day.’

Liza stood rubbing her bruised arm. ‘All right. I’ll try.’

Sly saw her eyes shifting to the double doors standing open at the front of the stable. ‘Don’t even think about running away,’ he warned her.

‘I wasn’t thinking about anything except where to find a canteen,’ Liza answered.

‘Of course you weren’t,’ Sly said, stepping so near to Liza that she had to lean her head far back to look up into those savage eyes. His voice was nearly a whisper as he touched her shoulder as if with fondness and said, ‘I once lived with a woman who looked something like you. We got along fine. Then one day she threw a little tantrum over something petty – I had told her to do something and she refused. She winged a half brick at my head.’

‘What happened to her?’ Liza asked weakly.

‘What do you think?’ Sly asked cruelly. ‘Just do what I tell you, is all I’m saying, and we’ll get along.’

Gus’s nimble fingers were accustomed to the work he had been assigned and within another ten minutes the black horses had been hitched to Cora Kellogg’s surrey. ‘What now?’ the old man asked, returning to the stable, dusting his hands together.

‘Why don’t you just crawl back up into the wagon and see how quiet you can be,’ Sly said in a low growl. ‘If you were lying to me about not having a gun, don’t make the mistake of trying to use it.’

‘I wasn’t lying, and I wouldn’t try to use a weapon on you if I had one,’ Gus replied. ‘But mister, can’t you see your way clear to let the girl go now? You’ve got what you wanted.’

Sly didn’t bother to answer. He gestured with his Colt, and Gus trudged across the stable to crawl up into the covered wagon again.

Liza had returned with a wooden canteen. ‘I don’t know how good the water is,’ she told Sly. ‘They were holding it in a rain barrel back there.’

‘Any water’s good water when you have none,’ Sly said. He had ridden the desert too long to underrate its value. If it was a little brackish, too bad, but it was better than feeling your tissues slowly dry up, your tongue cleave to your palate, your throat grow constricted, your lips parch and split.

He did not think that he would have to travel far on that canteen. Jay Champion was also a veteran desert raider and he certainly would not leave the seep without full water-bags. Sly only had to get on to the trail to meet him. There was only the one way out of Hangtown. A few miles down the road the trail forked. The southern route led to Tucson, where they would most definitely not be heading since they still held the bank’s money. The other angled westward, in the direction, he believed, of a patchwork settlement called Arroyo Verde. Although neither Sly nor Jay had ever ridden that way, that would be the direction he would take. Jay would be along. Champion was his friend and would never cross Virgil Sly. And. …

Sly was the last man in the world he would wish to make an enemy of.

‘Let’s have at it, girl,’ Sly said, slinging the canteen over his shoulder.

Clambering aboard in the sweltering heat Liza clasped her hands together between her knees, wishing for Wage Carson’s rescue even as she prayed that he would not come. Sly would gun Wage down as soon as he saw the glint of the marshal’s badge Wage Carson wore. Fearful though she was, Liza was nearly convinced that Sly would let her go once he had reached the safety of the long desert. After all, what further use did he have for her?

Sly slapped the reins against the glistening flanks of the matched black horses and the surrey lurched into motion.

The moment he heard the horses start, Gus leaped from the rear of the Conestoga and in a staggering run, made his way across the street toward the marshal’s office. He was not a coward, he told himself. There was nothing at all he could have done to stop Virgil Sly. But he was not going to let the badman make off with Liza, sweet young woman that she was. Gus was very fond of the girl. There was no telling what a man like Sly might decide to do to her, given the time to consider the possibilities. There was little that was beneath Virgil Sly. Gus had seen his kind before.

Wage Carson had been explaining to Josh Banks, ‘I chased him into the alley in back of the stable, but he just vanished. I decided to come back and check on you. I saw Sly firing at you, saw you take a tumble.’

‘His lead didn’t touch me,’ Josh said. ‘But it was damned close.’

‘Where do you think …?’

Wage looked around as Gus, panting with the exertion and the hot thin air of the day, burst into the marshal’s office. Josh Banks rose from his desk, his weathered face drawn down with concern.

‘What is it, Gus?’ Josh asked.

‘Liza,’ Gus gasped, leaning against the wall, holding his tortured chest. ‘Sly’s got her.’

‘Got her?’ Wage Carson said with cold fury. ‘Where? What do you mean?’ For a moment Gus thought the brawny young marshal was going to hurl himself upon him. There was a fierceness in Wage’s eyes he had never seen before.

‘Sly made his way back to the stable. He’s breaking for open desert in Cora’s surrey, and he’s got Liza with him as a hostage.’

‘How did …?’ Josh began and then realized it was not the time for questions. Wage was already nearly to the door, snatching up his hat and rifle in passing. ‘Wage!’ Josh said in a nearly pleading tone. ‘Be careful.’

Wage paused briefly at the open doorway to glare back at them. ‘Save that advice for Virgil Sly. He had damned well better be careful, because if any harm comes to Liza I’ll track him till I drop, if it takes following him to hell.’