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Page 3.

Beard watched from a distance as the heavy-set man sat down opposite Tom, while Kate sat nearby and smiled at the man with that same magical, balmy look that had him eating from her hands. Tom deliberately took his time. He poured the man a shot and pushed it toward him. The victim began to lose his shyness and become part of what must have seemed like a family to him. Brother and sister, they were utterly warm, simple, charming, seductive, and friendly. Tom spread out a hand of cards and tapped the deck with his forefinger. It didn’t matter what the game was. Maybe the victim didn’t even know how to play cards. The ruse was that the brother must approve of the man before he would allow his sister to become more friendly with him. Beard supposed that the victim by now thought that these two odd ducks were maybe a pair of simpletons (never mind the cigars, booze, and cards) and that a license from Tom would give him entry to the paradise that Kate subliminally promised. Beard could feel it all the way across the coach, from his spy place near the connector—a radiant emanation that snared its victim in a net of coquettish nods, and glances, and smiles, and turning aside of the head in pretended shyness.

Gray-Eyes came up behind Beard and startled him. Beard said, “Just in time. The wolves are closing in on their lamb.”

“Looks like the wolves have him cornered.”

“They’re feeding him whiskey, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s dropped some magic powder in his glass to hurry it up.”

Gray-Eyes clutched his stomach. “Oh no.”

“Make it quick,” Beard said.

Gray-Eyes hurried away to find a toilet.

Within a few minutes, the victim began to seem torpid. First, he stopped moving and just sat like a big frozen slab of lard. His eyes grew confused and the cards tumbled from his fat white fingers. Beard knew then—Tom Morgan had slipped him a dose of something. The heavy man snapped his head upright two or three times, but finally sank into a deep slumber. Kate hurried to his side and helped him lie down on the seat. Both Morgans were all over him in an instant, going through his pockets. As Tom Morgan triumphantly held up the man’s black leather wallet, Beard pulled his coat back and stepped into the middle of the cabin, displaying his badge on the left and his gun on the right. “Hold it right there, both of you. You’re under arrest.”

“What for?” said Kate with a big smile. “Our friend here has had too much to drink.”

“With a little help from you two,” Beard said.

“What is the matter with you?” Tom asked. “Are you crazy?”

“I was just about to ask you that,” Beard said. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a chain with a shiny steel handcuff on each end. The very next instant, he knew he had terribly miscalculated.

Tom Morgan had two Deringers, one in each hand, now aimed at Beard’s head and torso. Tom stood at a slight crouch, holding the pistols at slightly different angles with the practiced stance of one who was no newcomer at this. “Mister, I don’t know who you are, but you’re looking at the Angel of Death.”

“Take it easy,” said Beard as he raised his gloved hands halfway and opened them in hapless surrender.

“Now we just have minutes here, don’t we? Before a porter comes through, or your friend returns. I thought you two looked suspicious. Kate, put the manacles on him.”

“You are digging yourself a hole,” Beard said.

“Stow the big talk. I’ll kill you right here, right now, if I have to. Got nothing to lose if it comes to that.”

As he spoke, Beard could feel the woman move around him. He heard the chain rattle, and felt the sharp bite of a manacle on his right wrist. “Hands behind you,” she snapped. He offered his other wrist to cuff.

“Okay, Mister,” said Tom Morgan. “You can avoid meeting Jesus today if you don’t waste any more of my time and just do what I say.”‘

“Fair enough,” Beard said, knowing he was licked.

“Kate,” Tom said. She pushed Beard toward Tom. Morgan pocketed one gun and kept the other trained on Beard’s head. The man and woman led Beard toward the door, and Beard understood what was coming next. Tom said: “You play along, you just got yourself a long, thirsty walk to the nearest town. You screw with me, and I’ll throw you out there with a bullet in your head. Make up your mind.”

The door swung open at Kate’s push. Wind howled by, and made their hair and clothes rattle. Beard’s hat flew away. Dusty grit swirled in circles that made all three persons blink. They spat harsh dust from between their teeth. As Kate and Tom watched, Beard walked straight-up, as if he were stepping onto a train platform, out into the air, and instantly disappeared in a roar of wind. A glance behind told the two that their victim had landed, rolling, somewhere on the rocks and grit. “He’ll be okay,” Tom said as he kicked the hat after the man and pulled the door shut. “A little banged up and worse for wear, but he’ll live. I shamed him. He won’t say what happened to him here. “

“He’ll be looking for us, though,” she said. “There is another one, too.”

“Yeah, I saw them both. You got the wallet?”

They looked at the sleeper. She said: “We got his watch, his money, his gold tie clip, his cuffs, his collar pin. We’ve cleaned him out.”

“Good. Not a minute to waste. Act natural.” Leaving the sleeper where he lay, they walked slowly back to the dining coaches. Tom kept his hands in his pockets, a Deringer in each fist. Kate clung to him, and he shook her off with an elbow to the ribs. “Woman, don’t dog me now.”

She held her side and grimaced in pain. “One day, I’m going to throw you off a train, you son of a bitch.”

“You try me, woman, and you’ll join that tin horn copper.”

For a minute or two of menacing silence, they walked down the corridor of an empty car that was probably expected to fill up in some city ahead. On their left were windows overlooking desert and irrigated farm land. Several of the dusty windows were slightly open. In-rushing wind freshened the hallway’s stale air, but brought with it dust and pollen, and a boiled-coal smell from the locomotive. On their right were closed and darkened cabins. Far ahead were the noise and laughter of the bar car.

As Tom and Kate approached a door marked W.C. on the right, the toilet door opened, with the hand of Gray-Eyes on the door handle. The man had finished his business, pulled up his pants, and was about to step out. One could hear the rattling of tracks under the open-bottomed box that dumped its contents on the ties as the train flew onward.

Tom saw the man’s badge and gun and brought one of his Deringers up.

The lawman, with years of experience, took this all in during an instant. Lurching back, he reached for his gun. A collection of Wanted posters fluttered from under his elbow.

Tom shot him in the chest, and the policeman keeled over backwards onto the toilet seat. Tom glanced left and right, and saw that nobody had witnessed this. He put the Derringer in his pocket. He took the key from inside the door. The man sprawled, looking away with dull eyes, dying in a pool of blood, with his long legs crumpled and his arms extended to the sides as on a cross. Grabbing the Wanted posters, Tom pulled the door shut. He locked it from outside so that the white enamel sign said Occupied. He threw the key and the posters out the window.

Kate pointed ahead. “We’re pulling into a town.”

“Good. Let’s lose ourselves. We’ve got the guy’s money, and we’ll figure out something—quickly hop a train going somewhere else.” He put her arm under his elbow and grinned. “You still want to throw me off a train?”

She sighed, wrapped her arm around his, and gave him a rueful smile. Together, they waited by the nearest door for the train to stop so they could vanish into the enormous, empty continent that was their playground.