Joe Harbin settled down glumly to his work. All right, if that was what it took, that was what he would do. He would work so hard they would pay no more attention to him. His head was throbbing, but he had been knocked down before, and always within him was the thought of the money that awaited, and of beating Rodelo to the cache.
When Turkey came up he scarcely saw him, or even realized his presence until the guard spoke. “Don’t you ever get tired, Joe?”
“Not me.”
“Your friend Rodelo signed out this morning. Look what he gave me.” He showed them the gold coin, watching their expressions. There was something behind all this, Turkey felt sure, and he was curious. “This was his eating money until he found himself a job. I can’t figure that man.”
When Harbin offered no comment, Turkey walked away, and Badger took over holding the drill on the new hole. “If Dan doesn’t need that money,” he said, “he must have a good idea where he can get more.”
“I got to get out of here.” Harbin’s eyes were wild. “Tom, we got to get out.”
“We’ll get out. We’ll get out tonight.”
Harbin’s head jerked up in astonishment. “Tonight?”
“You be ready. About sundown.”
Joe Harbin’s tongue touched his lips, and he glanced at the sun … a couple of hours to go. He could feel cold sweat inside his shirt. Was he scared? Well … maybe. But he was going through with it, no matter what. He could already taste that cold Mexican beer … or the tequila. Now, there was a drink!
As they worked, the sun’s heat was thrown back by the sandstone, and it was fierce, blistering, turning the bottom of the quarry into an oven. The careless touch of an ungloved hand to a steel drill would sear the flesh, and across the quarry two men had dropped from the heat, but Joe Harbin continued to work steadily. Tom Badger, a slower, more methodical worker, nevertheless accomplished as much. Badger had no lost motion, no wasted effort. He had worked enough to know all the knacks and tricks that made hard work easier.
Miller, the nearest guard toward the end of the long, blistering afternoon, walked down to them. They were completing the last hole of their round, well ahead of any of the others.
“You fellows outworked every team on the job. Go turn in your tools. You’ve done enough for today.”
Badger straightened up, rubbing his back. “Thanks, sir. I guess you’re right. We’d best save something for tomorrow.”
Badger picked up the drills one by one while Joe Harbin shouldered the double-jack. During a moment when the guard’s attention was distracted, Badger kicked one drill away among the rocks, then slowly the two walked off. Glancing back, Badger saw the powder-monkey was already dropping sticks of giant powder into the drilled holes, tamping them home with a long stick.
Badger’s eyes swept the quarry, measuring distances, imagining the scene as it would be, and carefully estimating his chances. For a moment his eyes held on Gopher, who was struggling with a heavy wheelbarrow loaded with broken rock. The boy looked bad … he would never live out his term, Badger thought.
Turning, he walked on beside Harbin toward the prison tool shed, where a trusty was checking the tools as they were brought in.
“You’re early tonight. Miller must be goin’ soft,” the man said. He grinned at Badger. “All right, Harbin. You got your hammer?”
Joe Harbin placed the double-jack on the shelf at the door, inadvertently glancing over his shoulder. His mouth was dry and he was jumpy, knowing that any minute now—
Badger had swung his drills to the shelf and the trusty glanced over at them. “You’re a drill short, Tom.”
“I must’ve overlooked it,” Badger said calmly. “I was in a hurry to get in.”
“Well, you hustle right back there and find it. You know the rules.”
Badger walked back slowly, timing each step, knowing eyes were on him. He also knew that when he bent to pick up the drill he would be momentarily out of sight of the guard, now standing over the prisoners lower down in the quarry, and of the trusty in the tool shed.
As he stepped down, apparently searching for the drill, he suddenly dropped to one knee, struck a wooden match hoarded for the purpose and lighted the newly placed fuse, then another, and another. He picked up the drill and walked slowly away.
He knew how long it would take for the fuse to burn, knew when the explosion would come, and knew what must follow if there was to be an escape. Tom Badger was a careful man and he had planned every move with care, yet even as he planned there had lurked in his mind the shadow of the Yaquis. There was no way to plan for them, or to make plans against them. It came down to a simple matter of outrunning them if possible, or outfighting them if it was not.
He came up to the tool shed. “Here’s your drill. Satisfied?”
“It ain’t me, Tom,” the trusty said. “It’s the rules. You got to abide by them.”
As he reached to take the drill from Badger’s hand the air was suddenly torn by a shattering blast, and in the instant of the explosion Badger swung the steel drill and struck the trusty on the skull.
The sound of the explosion died amid a burst of yells, and then came screams of pain from the injured, guards and convicts alike. Instantly, Tom and Harbin ran toward the quarry. The first body they came upon was that of Ferryman, half covered with rocks and sand. Jerking the body free, Badger ripped the gun belt and pistol from the guard’s hips, shucking the cartridges swiftly into his palm from the belt, then thrusting the gun into his pants.
Seizing the rifle of the fallen guard, Joe Harbin smashed it against a rock.
Convicts and guards were struggling to crawl out of the welter of smoke, dust, and debris. Several staggered up, bleeding, and started to clamber out of the quarry. Pushing past them, Badger climbed out of the quarry and ran toward the team and wagon that stood nearby.
The warden suddenly appeared, accompanied by several guards. He paused abruptly, staring down at the confusion in the quarry, while the guards ran on down the ramp to give aid to those below.
Tom Badger moved quickly to the warden’s side, thrusting the gun into his ribs. Harbin closed in on the other side, jerking the warden’s pistol from its holster.
“We got nothin’ against you, warden, so if you want to go on livin’ just head for that wagon.”
“I’ll do—”
“Warden,” Badger warned, “we ain’t got time to argue. You head for the wagon.”
The warden started to protest and Harbin promptly slammed him over the head with a gun barrel. Quickly, they dragged him to the wagon and heaved him in. Tom Badger caught up the reins and the team started for the gate at a smart trot.
Joe Harbin pulled the warden in front of him and propped him up so he could be seen. The plan was working! Now, if only—”Halt!”
Badger kept the wagon moving forward, and a second guard stepped out of the watch tower beside the gate, with shotgun lifted. “Halt, or we fire!”
“Open that gate,” Badger ordered, “or you’ll have a dead warden on your hands.”
Hesitating, the guards glanced right and left, looking for help, but there was none. The deputy warden and the others had rushed to aid the injured in the quarry.
“You’ve got three seconds,” Harbin said, “and then I blow the warden’s head off and we shoot it out … One!”
The guards looked at each other. They owed their jobs to the warden, who was a friendly, pleasant man, although stern where duty was concerned. “Two!”
One of the guards turned sharply and went to the rope that opened the gate. Without a word he began hauling on the rope. The gate opened … all too slowly. Joe Harbin could feel the sweat trying to find a way through his thick eyebrows, and he could feel the hair crawling on the back of his neck. At any moment there would be shooting.
Then the gate was open and they went through, walking the horse until the wagon was safely clear, then picking up the team to a fast trot.
They were at the break of the hill. “Drop him!” Tom said, and Joe Harbin shoved the still unconscious warden from the wagon and Tom Badger slapped the horses with a whip. Instantly they broke into a run. From the tower at the gate came a rifle shot, another, and then they were shielded by the break of the hill.
Suddenly from behind them the bell began to peal, and Badger swung the wagon off the road and into the brush at the base of the hill. They moved along through the brush, bumping over stones, but holding to a good pace.