The Last Hard Men - Brian Garfield [33]
In some way, keeping them all sorted out this way seemed a necessary exercise in the preservation of sanity. Identifying them by color and cheekbone-shape was an arbitrary way to classify them but it kept her brain busy; as she heard them speak more, she would start sorting them out by personality and talents.… What was this madness? They weren’t fourth-grade pupils! You have got to get a grip on yourself.
When Portugee came back she saw Zach Provo pick up the reins of his horse. “Mount up.”
“Aw, Jesus, Zach,” said Portugee, “I’m tard.”
“Posse down there,” Menendez told him in a casual way. “You want to es-sleep till they get here and arres’ you, Portugee?”
“Hell, they got to keep their distance long as we got her.”
“Don’t count on it,” said Will Gant, and came around from the far side of his horse to face Portugee and Zach Provo.
Portugee said, “Then what’d we brang her for?”
“Because Zach wants to sweat old Sam Burgade.”
Portugee scowled and bit a hangnail on his thumb. She saw Mike Shelby turn to watch the byplay. Will Gant said, “Time we got one or two thangs straight, Zach.”
“No time for that now.”
Mike Shelby said, “Maybe let him get it off his chest. He’s lookin’ as unhappy as a soaked cat.” He smiled in a friendly way. Quesada looked on, mute; Taco Riva was holding his horse by the bit chains, murmuring to it, indifferent to the others.
Will Gant shifted his stance. He seemed to realize he had thrown raw meat on the ground. He cleared his throat and said irresolutely, “Look, all I mean is, we come all the way down here on Zach’s say-so to git us a heap of money, and what’d we end up with? A few dollars pocket change. All’s we want now is get shet of that posse. Maybe as long as we hang onto this girl we keep them at arm’s length, but ain’t nothing stopping them from tracking us, don’t matter where we go. We can’t hide out with them ten mile behint us. We keep going like this and sooner or later they going to rail us, girl or no girl. We can’t all stand in a line behint her when the bullets start flying. What I say, we ought to split up soon as we get acrosst these mountains. Everbody go their own way. Posse can’t chase all of us if we all go different ways.”
Provo said, “You’re talking out of turn, Will.”
“No. You ain’t my warden, Zach. Look, you want to get Sam Burgade hogtied and sweatin’, that’s your lookout. But we ain’t forgetting Sam Burgade would like to see you right where you’d like to see him. You was born to get hung, Zach, and I don’t rightly see no reason why the rest of us got to get hung alongside of you. You go ahead and play out your string with Burgade, that’s your binness, ain’t nobody trying to stop you. But I don’t cotton to it myself. I’m fixin’ to go my own way once we over the top.”
“You’re wasting wind,” Provo said. “Are you fool enough to think that’s the only posse in Arizona? By now they’ve got those cross-country wires spliced together and they’ve sent word on us out to every hick town in the state. I’m the only thing in the world that’s keeping you out of their hands, Will—me and missy, here. You go busting off on your own and they’ll hunt you down in no time flat.”
“I guess I’ll just take that chance.”
Susan glanced toward Menendez. His sharp little face was watchful and immobile. She looked away, chilled, and plucked at the frayed seams of her ripped sunbonnet. Provo had ripped a big piece of it off to hang on a twig down in Rose Canyon where her father couldn’t miss seeing it. Poisoned, she thought—His mind’s poisoned She was beginning to wake up, she realized; her body