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He lunged at the back that was moving away. Three long strides and his arms were around Valdez’s neck, jerking, swinging him off his feet. He heard the shotgun clatter against the wall and hit the floor.

Tight against him, Bobby Valdez was turning his body. Lyall let go with one arm, brought it down quick, and drove it as hard as he could into the stomach almost against him. Valdez gasped and started to sag. Then footsteps on the stairs. Lyall scrambled for the shotgun, came up with it, and was at the doorway in time to see Sixto partway up the stairs, but as he raised the shotgun there was a swirl of robes and Sixto was at the bottom again. There was the sound of him running through the office, then nothing. Lyall came around fast. Valdez was almost on him, coming in low, diving for Lyall’s legs—and he dove right into the shotgun barrel swung hard against his skull.

Lyall just stood there breathing for a minute before he dragged Bobby Valdez back to the cell and hefted him onto the bunk.

“Mr. Valdez,” Lyall said out loud, “that’s one youcan mark to experience.”

He went downstairs after that. Barney Groom was slouched in his chair, out cold. Lyall went to the doorway; he stepped outside to have a look around, and there was the friar’s robe. It was in the road over by the hitch rack. Lyall gathered it up quick. He brought it back in the office and hung it beneath his rain slicker that was hooked on a peg. Then he breathed easier.

ELODIE TURNED AWAY from the window. “It’s over, Lyall,” she said gravely. “They’re starting to come out on the street.”

Lyall glanced at her. “Is that right, Elodie?” he said, then put a little more ketchup on his eggs. Scrambled eggs were good that way; this morning they tasted even better. He ate them, half smiling, remembering Bohannon coming that morning. Bohannon frowning at Barney Groom, Barney trying to figure how he got his head bumped when he was sound asleep.

Then when they went upstairs—that was really something. Bohannon saying, “Maybe he’s sick,” seeing Valdez’s white face and the side of his head swollen like a lopsided melon. And Barney Groom saying, “Maybe the same bug bit me, bit him.”

Then what Bohannon said to him when they went downstairs again—that was the best.

“Now, Lyall, you done a fair job, though just sitting up there trying to keep awake wasn’t much of a test. Tell you what”—Bohannon pulled a folded sheet of paper from his vest pocket—“last night I got a note from the White Sands marshal telling about the padre there getting his outfit stolen off the clothesline and would I assign a man to it since he’s busy collecting taxes.” Bohannon chuckled. “Have to keep the padres happy. Now, Lyall, if you could prove to me you’re smart enough to get that padre’s robe back for him, I’ll see you’re made a permanent deputy. And that’s my solemn word.”

Lyall pretended he didn’t see Bohannon wink at Barney Groom. He said, “Yes, sir, I’ll sure try.” Just as serious as he could.

19

The Captives

Film Title: The Tall T

Argosy, February 1955

Chapter One

HE COULD HEAR the stagecoach, the faraway creaking and the muffled rumble of it, and he was thinking: It’s almost an hour early. Why should it be if it left Contention on schedule?

His name was Pat Brennan. He was lean and almost tall, with a deeply tanned, pleasant face beneath the straight hat brim low over his eyes, and he stood next to his saddle, which was on the ground, with the easy, hip-shot slouch of a rider. A Henry rifle was in his right hand and he was squinting into the sun glare, looking up the grade to the rutted road that came curving down through the spidery Joshua trees.

He lowered the Henry rifle, stock down, and let it fall across the saddle, and kept his hand away from the Colt holstered on his right leg. A man could get shot standing next to a stage road out in the middle of nowhere with a rifle in his hand.

Then, seeing the coach suddenly against the sky, billowing dust hanging over it, he felt relief and smiled to himself and raised his arm to wave as the coach passed through