In their three months here, Bowen had talked to Manring more often; and only a few days before the supply trip to Pinaleno, Manring had hinted at a plan of escape. But by then, Bowen had made up his mind to try it his own way and Manring’s hints had been too vague to even arouse his curiosity.
Still, he thought now, Manring had considered him in his escape plan. That was the point. That was the main reason Pryde’s story of Manring informing on him left a question in his mind.
There were twenty-two marks on the wall the morning Brazil opened the door and told them to come out. As soon as they were outside, both men lifting a hand to shield the sun from their eyes, and unexpectedly noticing the convicts grouped along the front of the barracks watching them, Brazil slammed the heavy door and walked away.
“It’s Sunday,” Bowen said.
Pryde was looking toward the convicts. “He’s not there.”
“Let me worry about Manring,” Bowen said.
He walked along the front of the barracks, every convict in the yard watching him, and those near him nodded as he approached then moved aside as he entered the barracks. Over the yard there was a silence.
Two convicts playing a card game looked up as he entered. They seemed to hesitate. Then one of them began dealing the cards again. The other convict looked past the dealer, down the length of the adobe, down the row of straw mats that were lined along the wall, before his gaze dropped to the cards again.
Manring was lying on his side, his eyes closed and his left arm pillowing his head. Then his eyes opened, raising from Bowen’s shoes up to his face.
“Corey, you look thinner.”
Bowen said nothing, but his gaze remained on Manring’s bearded face. He heard a step behind and he knew it was Pryde.
“And a few shades paler,” Manring said.
There was a momentary silence before Bowen said, “You might be about to get your teeth kicked out.”
Manring pushed himself up. “You better go easy.” His eyes shifted to Pryde, then to Bowen again. “What for?”
“You told Renda I was going to jump the wagon.”
“Ike told me…the first day.”
Manring’s eyes went to Pryde again. “And what exactly did Ike tell you?”
“That Renda said something to you…like, ‘You said not till the grade.’ ”
“When was that?”
“Right after I jumped.”
Manring’s jaw relaxed. “How would Ike know? He’d just had his head busted with a Winchester.”
“But he was still awake.”
“All right.” Manring shrugged. “Maybe Renda said that. I don’t know-there was a lot of shooting going on. But if he said it, he didn’t say it to me.”
“Who would he say it to, Brazil?”
“Who else is there! Listen, you’re accusing me of something you don’t know anything about. Get your facts straight before you come marching in here like a couple of vigilantes!”
“I got mine straight,” Pryde said. “You know it and I know it.”
Manring shook his head. “After Brazil busted you, you started hearing things.”
“Corey might not be sure,” Pryde said. “But I am. I was there. I heard Renda say it right to your face-”
“What did I say to his face?”
Renda stood in the doorway behind them, then came forward a few steps as Bowen and Pryde half turned. “What did I say?”
Pryde shook his head. “Nothing.”
“Ike, you want to go back in the closet?”
Pryde did not answer and for a long moment Renda stared at him. His eyes moved to Bowen then. “You two spend three weeks in the house and when I let you out you come right back in.” He paused. “You like being inside?” He answered his own question saying, “All right, we’ll give you some inside work. Ike, you and your friend Corey go over and clean out the stable. Rub down the horses, too.” He turned to go, then looked back. “And Ike…don’t come out till the sun goes down.”
Lizann Falvey watched her husband finish the whiskey in his glass, seeing his hand come down slowly to the table and release the glass almost reluctantly. The table was across the room, at least a dozen feet away, but she could see that the bottle was empty.
Now a trip to Fuegos, she thought. She was sitting in a canvas chair studying Willis and wondering how long he would last.
He’ll go to Fuegos to finish what he has started and come back tomorrow with six bottles, three in each saddle bag. You can look forward to that. And in a few days you can look forward to it again. Then again…and again-
She sat and watched him, waiting. Waiting for him to look up from the table, but he continued to study the label of the whisky bottle and finally she said, “Willis-”
His head turned. “What?”
“In the top drawer of my dresser,” Lizann said, “there’s a gun. I believe you called it a.25-caliber Colt. Why don’t you take it and go for a ride up into the hills.”
Willis frowned. “What?”
“Or just go behind the adobe,” Lizann said. “I thought at first I’d rather not hear the shot, but on second thought it really wouldn’t matter.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“I’m not trying to say anything. I’m telling you to put a gun to your head and be done with it.”
The whisky had relaxed him, had made him drowsy and it cushioned somewhat the shock of her words. His expression scarcely changed.
“You sincerely hate me, don’t you?”
Lizann shook her head. “That’s putting it too simply. I suppose there are moments when I think I hate you, but most of the time I can feel only disgust. You hate a man like Frank Renda who is strong enough to be hated and you would hate even a memory of him. With your kind, Willis, you feel either sorrow or disgust and when that’s passed you’re hardly worth a memory-a feeling of indifference at best.”
Willis stared. “Why don’t you leave me?”
“Don’t you think I would if I could?”
“What’s stopping you?”
“What’s stopping me?” Lizann repeated without tone in her voice. “Willis, I think I’m beginning to feel sorry for you. You don’t even fully realize the kind of man you’re dealing with. Do you think Frank Renda would let me leave?”
“You go for rides. You could keep going.”
“I have never gone out without one of Salvaje’s men following me.”
“I go to Fuegos,” Willis said. “No one follows me.”
“Renda doesn’t have to watch you. He even admitted that. You’re your own watchdog, Willis.”
“Renda’s very sure of himself.”
Lizann shrugged. “He’s in a position to be.” Her expression softened then. “But, Willis…he doesn’t have any more on you than you do on him.”
“So?”
“So…report him.”
“Just like that.”
“Be a man one time in your life!”
“Which is easy for you to say. But you’re not the one that goes to prison.”
“You’re already in prison. We both are.”
“Then,” Willis said, “we might as well stay where we are.”
Lizann rose from the chair and walked to the window. Her gaze went over the yard to the convicts sitting and leaning against the front of the barracks, then came back as she saw Frank Renda leave the shade of the ramada and start across toward them. Her eyes followed him until he reached the barracks and went in the first door, then she turned to her husband again.
“Are you going to Fuegos today?”
Willis looked up. “I thought I would.”
“Willis…when you get there, what would stop you from taking the stage to Tucson?”
His breath came out wearily and he shook his head.
“Listen to me! In Tucson you could write to the Bureau. Within two weeks someone would be here to investigate.”
“And two weeks later I’d be in jail.”
“No! After you send the letter, go somewhere else.”
“Would you meet me?”
Lizann hesitated. “Haven’t you had enough of this?”
“If I thought we could start over-”
“There is only one way to do that, Willis. But not together. God knows, not together. Think about getting out of here. Let what comes later take care of itself.”
He shook his head then. “Sooner or later I’d be caught. Going to prison is one thing. Perhaps I could take a year or so of it to get out of this mess. But I’d also be killing my career.”
“Your career!” Lizann’s voice rose. “A bookkeeper in a convict camp! That’s your career-that’s what your big political friends think of you. They’ve put you away, out of their hair. Don’t you realize that?”
“You didn’t think that way a year ago,” Willis said.
“I’m talking about now!”
“When you married me,” Willis said, “you were sure I had a future. Or else you wouldn’t have considered it.”
“With a clean collar on,” Lizann said, “you can fool almost anyone.”
Willis was silent, studying the bottle again. Lizann waited. Finally he looked up. “It wouldn’t be worth the chance.”
“How do you know, unless you try it?”
He shook his head. “I’d be hiding out the rest of my life.”
“I wouldn’t,” Lizann said calmly. “I’m asking you to do it for me.”
He looked at her as if to answer, but his gaze dropped and he pushed himself up from the table. Lizann watched him go into the bedroom and when he reappeared, moving past her without raising his eyes, he was carrying his hat and saddle bags. She saw him hesitate as he opened the door and he turned to her again.
“I’m sorry, Lizann. I’m sincerely sorry.”
“For me, Willis…or for yourself?”
“I think for both of us.” He stepped outside, closing the door behind him.
Lizann turned to the window again. She was watching her husband cross the yard when Bowen and Pryde came out of the barracks and followed Willis to the stable.
So he’s out, Lizann thought. Why couldn’t he have been Willis?
No, she thought then. You made the mistake yourself. And you’ll live with it the rest of your life unless you do something. You should have been more patient. There were others. But you guessed wrong and picked Willis-who was then what he is now. So you can’t really blame Willis.
They had met in Washington less than a year before. Three weeks later they were married. Lizann: a young woman whose father had been killed at Second Bull Run a year after she was born, killed in a cavalry action, leaving wife and daughter a name, but very little money to support the name. And Willis: a young man whose father, also with a name, had also died, leaving his son sole heir to a moderately large estate. But it was not until after their wedding and honeymoon that Lizann learned Willis had gambled away almost his entire inheritance. All that remained were the stories of his fortune-the same stories which had attracted Lizann to him. Still, she was not yet discouraged. Willis did have influential friends. And a political appointment was in the offing. Three months later they were in Prescott. There, Willis was told he would serve “somewhat as a liaison man” between the territorial government, the military and a privately operated road construction project. A few weeks later they were at Five Shadows. After the first day, Lizann fully realized the mistake she had made.
Now she looked out across the yard again to the stable and she thought of Bowen-remembering how she had compared her husband to him the day he was placed in the punishment cell; remembering now how she had catalogued him in her mind: a man who would do anything to escape.
She thought of him calmly, impersonally now, feeling that there had been something almost instinctive in choosing him from among all the convicts. As if-since Willis would do nothing-Bowen was the next logical choice to help her.
But how?
In some way that would benefit him. That, she realized already. A way that would help him escape. But, she thought now, talk to him first. He isn’t on Renda’s side. But neither is he necessarily on yours.
Before leaving the window to change into her riding suit, she saw her husband ride out of the gate. Less than ten minutes later, she walked across the yard and into the wide opening of the stable. She saw Pryde immediately, at the far end sweeping the aisle between the stalls-then Bowen. He was in the first stall on the right side, curry-combing Renda’s big chestnut mare. She walked toward him.
“Frank didn’t waste time putting you back to work, did he?”
Bowen looked up. “No, ma’am.” He watched her move toward him. She came almost into the stall, stopping to lean against the end of the partition that separated this stall from the next one. This was the first time she had even spoken to him and her relaxed, almost familiar manner surprised him.
“Will you saddle my horse?”
“All right.” He looked back, over the partition. “Which one?”
“The sorrel, on the other side.”
Bowen turned, taking a step as he did, then stopped abruptly. Lizann, less than an arm’s length from him, had not moved.
“I’m in no hurry,” she said. “Finish what you’re doing.”
“I’ve got all day to do this,” Bowen said.
Lizann was studying him openly. “How do you feel?”
“Not so good,” Bowen said. Her eyes made him conscious of his three weeks’ growth of beard, his ragged, sweat-stained appearance.
“I saw what Renda did to to you,” Lizann said quietly. “I was standing behind him.”
Bowen nodded. “I noticed.”
“It’s too bad your hands were tied.”
“Maybe it was good. I might have killed him.”
“Do you mean that?”
Her question surprised him. “I mean I was mad enough at the time.”
Lizann nodded slowly. “I could see why you would be. You’ve been here, what-three months?”
“That’s right.”
“And Yuma before that,” Lizann said. “With six years to serve of a seven-year sentence. I can’t say I blame you for trying to escape.”
“How do you know all that?” Bowen asked. He was reminded of Karla Demery. Now a second woman who seemed to know all about him.
“I looked up your record,” Lizann said.
“For a reason?”
“Perhaps.”
“What were you looking for?”
Lizann smiled. “You’ve a very suspicious nature. Perhaps I just felt sorry for you…thought you needed a friend.”
Bowen shook his head. “Not in a convict camp. With a husband.”
“My husband doesn’t know everything I do.”
“But Renda does. He has to know what everybody’s doing. Even you.”
“You sound very sure of yourself.”
“What’s going on here,” Bowen said, “is black and white and you know it as well as anyone else. Renda gets seventy cents a day for each convict-thirty of us-for food, clothes and shelter. But he doesn’t spend two bits a man on his best day. He buys cheap flour, full of worms. The coffee goes twice as far as it should. The Mimbres shoot most of his meat which costs him only for bullets. We sleep on straw mats you wouldn’t put a dog on. Since I’ve been here three men have died on those mats. Not one of them had a doctor, though Renda’s supposed to provide medical care. He makes money on the road contract and he’s keeping it going as long as he can, for every day he can stretch it he makes that much more money off the convicts. Anybody who’s been here longer than one day knows it. So it comes down to this-living here you’re either his friend or his prisoner and either way he knows what you’re doing.”
Lizann’s eyes remained on him. “You’ve thought it out very carefully.”
“I’ve had the time.”
“Which do you think my husband is, friend or prisoner?”
“Maybe both. But he drinks so he won’t have to admit to being either.”
“And I?” Lizann asked. “Which am I?”
“Until a while ago, I would’ve thought you and Renda got along fine.”
Lizann’s eyebrows raised inquiringly. “And now?”
“Now I’d say you want out.”
“You just thought of that,” Lizann said. “You’re guessing.”
Bowen moved his hand slowly over the smooth back of the chestnut. “I’ll guess something else.”
“I’m listening.”
“You’re looking for somebody angry enough to help you.”
For a moment there was no sound in the stable. They were aware then of the faint sound of Pryde sweeping at the far end, but that was all. Their eyes held, neither of them moving until Lizann asked, quietly, “Are you angry enough, Corey?”