Tracy pushed his hat down over his eyes, shielding his face from the sun.
Jacknife stood in the door of the main building, hand close to his holster. The old man’s eyes were poor, and when he finally recognized Tracy, he let out a loud whoop and ran toward him. Tracy kicked his mount and clattered to a stop before the long ramshackle building. He climbed down, grinning. He didn’t want Jacknife to become suspicious.
“By jingoes,” Jacknife crowed, “it sure as hell is good to see you, boy. This’s been four days of pure murder, with all that cash just waitin’ for us.” He scratched his incredibly tangled beard, unmindful of the dirt on his face or the stink on his clothes.
Tracy looked toward the open door. The interior of the building was in shadows. “Pawker here yet?” he asked.
“Nope. He’s due in by sundown, though. Least, that’s what he said.”
“You got the money?” Tracy spoke sharply.
“Sure, boy, I got it,” Jacknife laughed. “Don’t get so worried. It’s inside, safe as can be.”
Tracy thought about shoving a gun into Jacknife’s ribs and taking off with the bag right away. But he rejected the idea. He didn’t have any grudge against the oldster. It was Pawker he disliked, with his boyish yellow beard and somehow nasty smile. He wanted the satisfaction of taking the money away from Pawker himself. He would wait. Then Tracy noticed Jacknife’s face was clouded with anxiety. He stared hard at the old man. “What’s the trouble? You look like you got kicked in the teeth by a Yankee.”
“Almost,” Jacknife admitted. “We’re right smack in the middle of a sitcheation which just ain’t healthy. A woman rode in here this morning.”
Tracy nearly fell over. “A woman! What the hell you trying to pull?”
“Nothin’, Tracy. She said she’s Pawker’s woman and he told her to meet him here. You know what a killer he is with the ladies.”
“Of all the damn fool things,” Tracy growled. “With cash to split up and every lawman around here just itching to catch us, Pawker’s got to bring a woman along. Where is she?”
“Right inside,” Jacknife repeated, jerking a thumb at the doorway.
“I got to see this.”
He strode through the door into the cool shadowy interior. The only light in the room came from a window in the west wall. The mountains and the broken panes made a double line of ragged teeth against the cloud-dotted sky.
She sat on top of an old wooden table, whittling a piece of wood. Her clothes were rough, denim pants and a work shirt. Her body, Tracy could see, was womanly all over, and her lips were full. The eyes that looked up at him were large and gray, filled with a strange light that seemed, at succeeding moments, girlishly innocent and fiercely hungry for excitement. Just Pawker’s type, he decided. A fast word, and they came tagging along. The baby-faced Confederate angered him more than ever.
“I hear you joined thee party,” Tracy said, a bit nastily.
“That’s right.” She didn’t flinch from his stare. The knife hovered over the whittled stick. “My name’s Lola.”
“Tracy’s mine. That doesn’t change the fact that I don’t like a woman hanging around on a deal like this.”
“Pawker told me to come,” she said defiantly. From her accent he could tell she was a Yankee.
“Pawker tells a lot of them to come. I been riding with him for a couple of months. That’s long enough to see how he operates. Only a few of them are sucker enough to fall.”
Her face wore a puzzled expression for a minute, as if she were not quite certain she believed what she said next. “He told me we were going to California with the money he stole from the bank.”
“That’s right,” Tracy said. “Did he tell you there were two more of us?”
“No.”
Tracy laughed, seating himself on a bench. “I thought so.” Inwardly he felt even more justified at taking the money for himself. Pawker was probably planning to do the same thing.
Jacknife stood in the door of the main building, hand close to his holster. The old man’s eyes were poor, and when he finally recognized Tracy, he let out a loud whoop and ran toward him. Tracy kicked his mount and clattered to a stop before the long ramshackle building. He climbed down, grinning. He didn’t want Jacknife to become suspicious.
“By jingoes,” Jacknife crowed, “it sure as hell is good to see you, boy. This’s been four days of pure murder, with all that cash just waitin’ for us.” He scratched his incredibly tangled beard, unmindful of the dirt on his face or the stink on his clothes.
Tracy looked toward the open door. The interior of the building was in shadows. “Pawker here yet?” he asked.
“Nope. He’s due in by sundown, though. Least, that’s what he said.”
“You got the money?” Tracy spoke sharply.
“Sure, boy, I got it,” Jacknife laughed. “Don’t get so worried. It’s inside, safe as can be.”
Tracy thought about shoving a gun into Jacknife’s ribs and taking off with the bag right away. But he rejected the idea. He didn’t have any grudge against the oldster. It was Pawker he disliked, with his boyish yellow beard and somehow nasty smile. He wanted the satisfaction of taking the money away from Pawker himself. He would wait. Then Tracy noticed Jacknife’s face was clouded with anxiety. He stared hard at the old man. “What’s the trouble? You look like you got kicked in the teeth by a Yankee.”
“Almost,” Jacknife admitted. “We’re right smack in the middle of a sitcheation which just ain’t healthy. A woman rode in here this morning.”
Tracy nearly fell over. “A woman! What the hell you trying to pull?”
“Nothin’, Tracy. She said she’s Pawker’s woman and he told her to meet him here. You know what a killer he is with the ladies.”
“Of all the damn fool things,” Tracy growled. “With cash to split up and every lawman around here just itching to catch us, Pawker’s got to bring a woman along. Where is she?”
“Right inside,” Jacknife repeated, jerking a thumb at the doorway.
“I got to see this.”
He strode through the door into the cool shadowy interior. The only light in the room came from a window in the west wall. The mountains and the broken panes made a double line of ragged teeth against the cloud-dotted sky.
She sat on top of an old wooden table, whittling a piece of wood. Her clothes were rough, denim pants and a work shirt. Her body, Tracy could see, was womanly all over, and her lips were full. The eyes that looked up at him were large and gray, filled with a strange light that seemed, at succeeding moments, girlishly innocent and fiercely hungry for excitement. Just Pawker’s type, he decided. A fast word, and they came tagging along. The baby-faced Confederate angered him more than ever.
“I hear you joined thee party,” Tracy said, a bit nastily.
“That’s right.” She didn’t flinch from his stare. The knife hovered over the whittled stick. “My name’s Lola.”
“Tracy’s mine. That doesn’t change the fact that I don’t like a woman hanging around on a deal like this.”
“Pawker told me to come,” she said defiantly. From her accent he could tell she was a Yankee.
“Pawker tells a lot of them to come. I been riding with him for a couple of months. That’s long enough to see how he operates. Only a few of them are sucker enough to fall.”
Her face wore a puzzled expression for a minute, as if she were not quite certain she believed what she said next. “He told me we were going to California with the money he stole from the bank.”
“That’s right,” Tracy said. “Did he tell you there were two more of us?”
“No.”
Tracy laughed, seating himself on a bench. “I thought so.” Inwardly he felt even more justified at taking the money for himself. Pawker was probably planning to do the same thing.
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