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tequila dream and had never even been in McLean.
    The passengers were now scurrying forward, dropping rings, wallets, and watches into the blanket. They came like sheep. Rawls helped.
    "That's the way, folks," Billy said approvingly.
    Art was right. This
was
better than ranching. "Just remember who belongs to what. We wouldn't want you to lose anything."
    The train jarred to a full stop.
    As Mapes swung down, Art and Joe, faces covered with red bandannas they'd bought at Sills in Wickenburg, charged out from behind the blazing pile, skirting it, Art towing the whinnying horses. Joe war-whooped and sent a shot into the air.
    Billy glanced out. It was quite a sight, he had to admit. He'd never seen a train holdup.
    Mapes swung back into the cab, cursing wildly. He'd been stopped before in a rock cut but never on the flat.
    Billy said to Rawls, noticing a diamond ring on his finger, "I'll have those guns now." He knew he shouldn't take the time but couldn't resist twitting the man. "That's trouble," he advised pointing his barrel at the ring.
    "It won't come off," Rawls gasped.
    Billy shrugged and carefully laid two of Rawls's guns into the blanket, slipping the third, a little silver-inlaid Colt .41 caliber derringer, into his waistband. "Too bad. I saw a man lose a finger that way on the border. Chopped clean."
    Rawls spat at his chubby finger and began tugging at it.
    Billy yelled, "Now, everybody git down low! We're gonna do a little shootin'." He put a slug into the pine tops over Art's head. The passengers ducked. Billy fired randomly again, interested in what Art was doing.
    Billy saw Art put a load of buckshot into the mail car door, which had opened and quickly closed. Then he shoved the ten-gauge back Into its scabbard, pulled a .45, and rode close to the door.
A true professional,
Billy thought. Bank cash was in that car, Art had said.
    Joe was herding Mapes and the fireman up against the hot driving wheel. Billy winged a shot that way, then unshackled Perry's wrist from the seat frame.
    He made it a point to be heard: "Do something decent for once in your life. Go back an' help those poor people in car two. I'll ask the judge to go easy on you." He gave Perry a gun from the blanket.
    Perry answered with a slightly bewildered look and started back toward the rear of the car.
    Rawls was on his hands and knees between the seats, Billy noticed, and had seen the prisoner re-leased. He was frowning. "Keep your heads down," Billy ordered. "Save your lives." He flipped another shot toward the pine tops and then reached into the blanket for a fresh gun.
    Seeing Perry enter car 2, Billy deftly pulled the four corners of the blanket together, then began hauling it with his left hand, towing it toward the door, pointing the borrowed Smith & Wesson at empty seats. He'd dump the blanket into Art's burlap bag.
    Jaw sagging, Rawls came up slowly. "Hey, wait a minute," he said weakly.
    Billy paused by the door, plucked the silver star from his chest, and tossed it. The badge landed with a clatter by Rawls's feet.
    Billy said to the passengers, "Thank you kindly, folks. You're an outstandin' group of citizens, an' I'll remember you always."

4
    THEY RODE OFF down the piney slope from the tracks—Joe with the tin cash box from the mail car; Billy clutching the laden blanket; Perry with a hand wrapped around a woman's silk long coat with loot from car 2; and Art bringing up the rear, throwing worried glances back to see if anyone was poking out to shoot.
    Lawyer Jack Lapham, of Polkton, Arizona, stared after them. He thought he recognized one of them.
    Jack's eyes narrowed on the riders' dodging backs. The lawyer was framed in a window of the second car, his silky, lemon-white hair blowing in the light breeze. He was a frail man, with a bony, seamed, distinguished countenance. There'd been two other attorneys in all of Arizona Territory when he'd come out from Illinois in '60. So he'd been around awhile.
    "I can't believe it, but