“Take it easy.”
“I’m taking it easy,” Neal said. “Walk toward the lumber truck. You do anything else, I’ll put one in your back.”
“You won’t have to, son.” He started walking toward the truck. Dave came out, grabbed him by the arm, and hauled him to the back side of the truck.
Randy and Cal ran back to their pickup and headed down to Ione. They’d take a roundabout route to Austin when they were sure they were in the clear.
“You boys like your boss?” Neal asked the guard and the driver.
They nodded.
“I have him as a hostage,” Neal said. “If I even
see
a plane, or a helicopter, or any member of the law enforcement community, I’ll leave him for the vultures. Now get up and get your coats out of the car.
He held the pistol on the two men as they got their coats and put them on. Then he lifted the pistol, shot the radio, and took the keys out of the ignition.
“Just to make sure,” he said. “Now don’t you boys get all-of-a-sudden stupid. No bank’s worth dying for.”
“You got that right,” said the guard.
Neal stepped to the side of the road and threw the keys over the edge.
“Start walking for Ione,” Neal said.
“Aw, come on!” the driver protested. “It’s freezing out here!”
“It’s a lot colder six feet under,” Neal answered.
The guard turned and started walking. The driver took a second to give Neal a dirty look and then started down the road after him.
“It’s been a pleasure robbing you!” Neal yelled. He jumped back on Midnight and rode back to the lumber truck. “Let’s get going!” he yelled.
The boys hopped into the two pickups they had waiting up the road and drove over the top of the hill as Neal, Craig, Jory, and Bill trotted behind. The hostage was tied and gagged in the back of the first truck. A few minutes’ hard driving got them to the base of the hill, back in Reese Valley.
Three big horse trailers were parked on the other side of the hill. The captured mustangs snorted and stamped in two of the trailers. The gang started to off-load their own horses from the back of the third.
Neal pointed to the hostage. “Untie him.”
Dave looked startled. “Neal, are you sure?”
“Well, he can’t ride like that, can he? Besides, he’s one of us.”
“What?”
“I said it was an inside job.”
Dave grinned as he hurried to untie the prisoner. “Neal, boy, damned if you ain’t something else …”
Damned if I ain’t, Dave boy.
“He can ride with me,” Neal said, pointing to the supervisor. “Help him up.”
Dave pushed the man onto the horse in back of Neal.
“We all ready?” Neal asked. Then he gave a signal and the men opened the trailers. The mustangs poured out and milled nervously in the snow, waiting for their leader.
He was a big young bay stallion, and he reared and kicked as Bekke led him away from his mares and young ones. The cowboys held the herd in check while Bekke pulled the stallion along until there was a space of a hundred feet between the stallion and his herd. The rest of the cowboys eased their horses into this space as Bekke held the stallion, who was trying to crush his handler’s head with his slashing hooves.
“Hold on tight,” Neal said to his passenger. He nodded to Dave, who gingerly slipped the rope off the stallion’s neck, then fired a pistol in the air. The stallion whinnied and reared, saw the way clear to the broad valley to the north, and took off. His mares and young ones followed at a gallop, while the cowboys in the middle hung on to their mounts and tried to stay ahead of the stampede, which was even now obliterating their tracks in the snow.
Midnight surged forward and both riders almost fell off before righting themselves.
“I told you to hang on!” Neal yelled.
“Did I ever tell you I hate you, Neal?”
“Many times, Graham! Many times!”
Joe Graham hung on to Neal’s waist as if it were a life preserver. This wasn’t far from reality; their horse was laboring under the double weight and losing ground. If either rider fell off he would be crushed by the stampeding mustangs before he could even get to his feet.
Graham closed his eyes.
Neal looked ahead and saw Dave chasing the stallion on, galloping right behind him and keeping him headed south. The stallion was trying to cut, turn around, and get back to his herd, but it was too soon for that. Neal could hear the hooves behind him, what people called a thundering herd. But it wasn’t like thunder, the sound was more like a heavy hail storm, like when the sky opens up and beats the earth with hard balls of ice. He risked turning his head and saw the mustangs pounding just behind him. He gripped his knees harder into the horse’s side and kicked his heels into the animal’s ribs. His left foot slipped out of the stirrup and he fell forward onto the side on Midnight’s neck. He could feel Graham’s one hand trying to grab his jacket and pull him back up, but Graham had no leverage and they were both slipping.
He gripped the reins tightly in his left hand as he tried to feel for the stirrup with his foot. He got a toehold, then grabbed the horse’s mane with his right hand and pulled himself back up.
And then they were just galloping, flying across the sagebrush with the north wind in their faces, and the horses kicking up snow and snorting and the cowboys gasping for breath. One long, beautiful ride on The High Lonely and then it was over. Craig, Jory, and Billy, their saddlebags full of the loot, cut to the east and trotted toward the Toiyabe Mountains, and Dave slowed to a canter and then stopped. The stallion turned, watched him for a wary minute, made a wide circle around the cowboys, and galloped back to his herd.
Neal watched the stallion gather his mares, his fillies, and his colts, snort greetings, and then lead them in a dash back to the south, back to the hard task of surviving winter.
Then Neal looked east and saw the cattle herd a mile in the distance. He watched the three riders cross in front of the herd, which would soon trample their tracks. The riders were headed for the creek. They’d ride their horses up the creek bed for about ten miles, then take them up into the hills where they could see the Hansen ranch. If everything was all right they’d come in at dusk.
The rest of them would join the cattle herd and make their way slowly down to the ranch.
If anyone was looking for armed robbers, they wouldn’t think to suspect a bunch of cowboys bringing in their cattle.
Vinnie Pond stamped down the road. He was not a happy man.
“I’m a driver,” he said, “not a walker.”
Hell of a driver, thought the guard. He’d hit the pickup perfectly—not enough to move it out of the way but hard enough to look real.
“What I want to know,” the guard said, “is where Neal got that shit-kicker accent.”
“You know Neal,” Vinnie said. He blew on his hands to keep them warm.
“Not always a day at the beach,” the guard agreed.
They trod on down the hill.
When they reached the cattle herd Neal got off Midnight and helped Graham down. “Take a break,” Neal said.
Joe Graham sat down in the snow. “How do you keep from banging your balls when you’re riding?” he asked.
“You don’t,” Neal answered. “You just get used to it.”
“No thanks. How much farther do we have to go?”
“About ten miles,” Neal answered, hopping back in the saddle. “It’s not so far on a horse.”
“1 think I’ll walk.”
Neal reached down and helped Graham back into the saddle. He maneuvered the horse to the back of the herd, out of earshot of the others.
“It went well,” Neal commented. “How much money did we get?”
“Three hundred large plus change.”
Neal whistled. “Pretty generous of The Man.”
“He wants it back.”
That’ll be a cute trick, Neal thought.
Graham said, “Nice touch with the logs. You could have told us.”
“It was an afterthought,” said Neal. “I didn’t know it was going to be you.”
“I had something to tell you.”
“What’s that?”
“I think Cody McCall is alive.”
“So do I,” Neal said.
“But I think I know where he is.”
Cal and Randy had driven to Ione, then on up to Fallon, and now were working their way home on Route 5O. They’d picked up a couple of six-packs in Fallon, seeing as how alcohol was in short supply back at the ranch.
They were close to the Filly Ranch when Cal said, “You know, we oughta
really
celebrate.”
“How do you mean?” asked Randy.
“Thinking of saddling up a filly.”
Randy looked at him in disbelief. “Jesus, Cal, we robbed that place!”
“We had masks on!”
“Still and all.”
They were still arguing about it when they reached the Filly Ranch and something Cal saw made the discussion moot.
It was a woman standing by the road with her suitcase by her feet and her thumb out.
“Pull over,” Cal said. “I mean, why pay for it?”
Randy pulled the truck over and Cal rolled his window down.
“Awful cold to be standin’ out there, ma’am.”
“You’re telling me,” she answered.
She’s pretty, Cal thought. Long legs, big tits …
“Where you headed?” he asked.
“Anywhere away from here,” she answered. “This is no kind of work for a white woman.”
“We can take you as far as Austin,” Cal offered.
“That’s a start.”
Cal hopped out, threw her bag into the back of the truck, and helped her into the cab.
“My name is Cal, he’s Randy,” Cal said. “Course, I’m randy too, but my name is still Cal.”
She laughed politely but was starting to get a little nervous. “I’m Doreen,” she said.
“You sure are pretty, Doreen.”
“Hey, I just want a ride, okay?”
It’s okay, Cal thought, we just want a ride, too.
A little way down the road he asked, “You don’t suppose you could contribute some gas money, do you, Doreen?”
She shook her head. “I don’t have no money. That bitch back there wouldn’t give me my pay. Said I owed her for rent and towels and shit.”
Cal and Randy looked at each other and laughed like banshees.
“Well, that’s too bad, Doreen, but maybe we could work something out?”
Randy pulled the truck to the shoulder.
“You goddamn men are all the same,” Doreen said. “All right, who’s first?”
Cal looked at Randy. “Wait outside.”
“It’s colder than your momma’s heart out there. Are you kiddin’?”
Cal took his pistol from his waistband. “I ain’t kiddin’.”
“At least let me have a cigarette and a beer,” Randy grumbled. He lit up, popped open a beer, and got out of the truck. He leaned against the passenger door.
Cal pushed Doreen down on the seat. “You’re going to love me,” he said.
“I’ll bet.” She wriggled her jeans down to her boots. “Come on, lover.”
A couple of minutes later she said, “Is there something special I can do to help you …”
“It’s the cold,” he said.
“Sure, baby, it’s the cold.”
Randy rapped on the window.
“I ain’t finished!” Cal yelled.
He ain’t even started, Doreen thought. It might be quicker to walk to Austin.
Randy rapped again. “Cal!”
Cal looked up. “What?”
“A car’s pullin’ up!”
Cal zipped himself, tucked the pistol back in his waistband, and backed out of the cab. A big man in a black cowboy hat and shades was getting out of an old Cadillac and coming toward them.
Doreen kneeled on the seat and looked out the window. “Shit, it’s Harold!”
Cal thought he recognized the man as the bouncer at the whorehouse, but he asked her, “Who is Harold?”
“What are you doing with my woman!” Harold roared, answering the question.
Randy giggled and Cal answered, “I was just about to make her the happiest woman in America before you interrupted.”
“Get out of there, you whore!” Harold yelled. “Your ass is coming back to the ranch! You think I’m paying your bill?”
Doreen looked at Cal.
Cal said, “I’ll pay her bill.”
“Shut up, cowboy,” Harold said, “I wasn’t talkin’ to—”
Cal looked around at the empty road, pulled his gun, and shot Harold three times in the stomach. As Doreen watched in shock, Cal and Randy dragged the writhing, moaning man off into the sagebrush.
“Finish that up for me, will you, Randy?” Cal asked as he walked back to the truck. He climbed in and pushed Doreen back down. “I guess that makes you my woman now,” he said.
He didn’t need any special tricks this time, and Doreen lay on the seat listening to his grunts and Harold’s whimpering. Then she heard the shot and felt Cal finish.
They were a few miles up the road when Doreen said she had to take a pee.
While she was squatting behind a bush, Randy said, “She saw you kill that man, Cal.”
“Us. She saw
us
kill that man, my friend.”
Randy pulled his gun. “This is as good a place as any.”
“What’s the hurry?” Cal asked. “We’re having a party tonight.”
Randy frowned. “Hansen ain’t gonna like us bringin’ no whore to the ranch.”
“He don’t have to know. We’ll sneak her in.”
Randy slipped his gun back inside his jacket as Doreen walked to the truck. Cal opened the door and Doreen climbed inside.
Steve Mills stood on the penultimate step of the ladder, gathered the lasso, and tossed it over the chimney. Then he took the other end, tied it around his waist, and hauled himself up onto the slippery roof of his house. He stood for a moment to get his footing and watch the snow of the valley turn sparkling orange as the sun blazed in the late dusk. Then he got to work; he didn’t have a hell of a lot of time.
“Carter seeks out these custody cases,” Graham told Neal. “He encourages the father to skip the state, cool out for a while, and then enter one of the cells. Once Daddy is completely committed to the cause, Carter persuades him to give the child up for ‘racial adoption.’ A boy Cody’s age will be hidden somewhere until he forgets he ever had a family outside the Identity movement.”
Neal pulled on the reins to slow his horse down. He wanted to stay in back of the herd, well out of earshot of the rest of the gang.