Nothing In Her Way by Charles Williams Page A

enough, without losing my head completely. There’d be the westbound train through at nine. But what good would that do me? Goodwin would probably already be at the station, waiting to meet the eastbound. Or if he wasn’t, at least a dozen people would see me get on it. As soon as they told him, he’d know the truth, and police would be waiting for me at some station up the line before I got to El Paso. Even if there were a bus through, the same thing would happen.
    Time went on in its slow crawl around the rim of my watch. There was no hope now that she was coming. It was four-fifteen. I watched the small oblong of yellow sunlight from the window creep up the wall as the sun went down. It was like sitting in a cell. I shuddered.
    I couldn’t just sit there and wait for them. I’d have to snake a run for it some way. Maybe I could hitch a ride if I got out on the highway. Then I thought of it—that freight, the one I’d put Donnelly on. It would be along, westbound, a little after seven.
    But I had to get away and get on it without being seen. The only way to do it was just to fade, and let them wonder afterward when I’d left and which way I’d gone. The only trouble, however, was that there was no way out of here except the drive and archway in front. The cabins and garages were joined in a solid wall all the way around. I’d have to leave the bags. No, there was a way to do it. The bathroom had a small window that looked out onto the open prairie to the east.
    I sweated out another hour and a half until it was dark. I looked carefully around the harsh little cubicle to be sure I hadn’t left anything that would identify me. The only things were the .22 rifle and the rest of the sand boxes. I put on the topcoat, carried the bags into the bathroom, and cut the lights.
    I opened the window and then waited while my eyes became accustomed to the darkness. Two or three cabins up the line there was light pouring from a window, and I could hear a radio playing. When I could see a little in the faint light from the stars, I eased out the window feet first, and then lifted the bags out. I closed the window very gently and slipped away, angling a little to my right to stay clear of the highway.
    It was slow going, dodging the clumps of mesquite and prickly pears, but I was in the clear and nobody had seen me leave. After about two hundred yards I swung toward the highway again. It was frosty and still, and in the cold starlight I could see the fog of my breath. I waited beside the road until no cars were in sight, then hurried across and into the desert on the other side.
    It was about a half mile to the tracks. The suitcases were heavy, and I stopped once or twice to catch my breath. I tried not to think about Cathy. Every time I saw her I saw Donnelly swinging that murderous shotgun and I’d feel sick. I thought of Charlie and Bolton, safe in El Paso with $65,000 in their pockets, laughing probably, while I struggled through the cactus to catch a freight that might get me out of town before the whole thing caved in on me. Rage would come boiling up and take me by the throat. I’d done the job, and now they’d run out on me.
    It didn’t make sense. Sure, they didn’t care what happened to me, but didn’t they have brains enough to know I’d talk if the police caught me? Talk? I’d scream. I’d sing like a nightingale. But then, what difference would it make to them? They’d be gone, and you can do a lot of traveling with sixty-five thousand dollars.
    I set the bags down for a minute and thought about it very coldly. If I didn’t get caught, they were going to need a railroad ticket a lot longer than that.
    When I hit the old work train, I swung around the end of it. I walked up to it about where I’d boosted Donnelly onto the freight, and ducked in between two cars. I set the bags down and flipped the cigarette lighter to look at my watch. It should be along in about a half hour.

Eight
    It was a night that