Legend With a Six-gun (9781101601839), page 40
“That is the best news you can bring us, except the news that your wound is completely healed,” Mordka replied. “I am ashamed that I have waited so long to ask how you feel.”
“Oh, I’m doing fine. I’ve got you and your ladies to thank for that, and I sure won’t forget it.”
Tatiana came to the table with the freshly brewed tea just as Longarm spoke. She answered before Mordka could do so. “Matushka and I are happy that for you we could do this.”
“Of course,” Mordka agreed. He looked at Tatiana and Antonin and said, “Now, you and your milochka take your tea and go outside. You have talk to make to each other while the marshal and I make another kind of talk here.”
When the young couple had left, Danilov asked, “Tell me now, why you think our days of trouble are over.”
“It seems the ranchers were upset because things went as far as they did. They had some hands who were going way past what their bosses told ’em. Like the shootings. I don’t expect you folks will have to worry anymore from now till harvest time,” He frowned and added, “If the weather leaves you any wheat to harvest.”
Danilov smiled. “You have said before how you worry over the weather, my friend. I tell you again, do not vex yourself about our wheat. Even if the little snow last night had been a big one, even if the sky drops heavy snow tonight, we will have a crop.”
“You’re so certain-sure, I’m curious to know why. All the wheat I’ve ever seen anyplace else couldn’t live past a snowfall.”
For a moment, Danilov sat silently thoughtful. Then he said, “It will do no harm to tell you, I suppose. But I will ask you to tell no one else.”
“You’ve got my word on that,” Longarm assured him.
“I would not have expected otherwise.” Danilov’s brows drew together. “Because you are not a farmer, to understand what I explain might not be easy. In Russia, on the steppes, the summer is short and winter returns early. There, the wheat is planted in late summer.”
“Sure. Winter wheat. Even if I ain’t a farmer, Mordka, I’ve been around wheat country enough to know the difference between winter wheat and spring wheat. And I could see right off, the first time I looked at it, that what’s in your fields ain’t winter wheat, or it would’ve been cut before I got to Junction.”
“You are right, Marshal. Our wheat is spring wheat. But on the steppes in Russia, a kind of spring wheat grows too. The seeds of it came first from Turkey, in the time of our fathers. We call it Toorciya krasnenkiey. What you would say, is Turkey Red.”
“I never heard of it, but no reason why I should.”
“This is the point I make. In America, there is none except—”
Longarm couldn’t hold back the exclamation. He broke into Danilov’s explanation, “Except what you folks have got planted in your fields. Is that right?”
“Of course. It was our great friend Carl Schmidt who told us that he has experimented here in Kansas, on his own farm, with the Turkey Red. He has learned that the seeds of Toorciya krasnenkiey will germinate and mature in a single summer here, and that the early snows which so often sweep over these prairies, as they do over the Russian steppes, encourage it to mature and ripen. Such storms would kill other kinds of wheat.”
“How come this Schmidt fellow doesn’t go into the seed business, if he’s got a start? Why’d he give the secret of this Turkey Red stuff away to you?”
“Carl is still experimenting. He will some day sell the seeds, but he has so little planted that he could not supply us. So he advised us to bring our own seeds when we emigrated.”
“And you got here all ready to plant in spring and reap in fall, even if there’s a little early snow-blow like we had last night.” Longarm grinned. “That’s why Hawkins and the other cattlemen didn’t bother you when you first came here, Mordka. They saw you putting in a crop, and they figured it was spring wheat, the kind they’d seen homesteaders go bust with before. They waited for you to go bust, too.”
Mordka sighed. “I suppose that is how it was. It is a sad thing, Marshal. On these prairies is so much land, surely enough for everyone. We do not try to drive the ranchers away. Why do they try to force us to go?”
“Well, they were here first,” Longarm pointed out.
“But we do not take land that belongs to them, only land they have used without owning it.”
“Sure. That’s happened just about everyplace I’ve seen where a bunch of farmers have settled in cattle country. Ranchers have had free open range so long they think it’s going to go on forever. It’s just ornery human nature, I guess, and I don’t see any way to change it.”
Danilov shrugged. “It is same everywhere. In Russia, the boyars and the nobles hold the land, and the serfs, the common people, have none. And over everyone is the Tsar. He owns all, even the land the nobles claim as theirs, even the souls of the people he calls his own.”
“I guess that’s why he keeps checking up on you,” Longarm suggested. “Even when you leave his country, he still claims you.” He thought of Ilioana Karsovana, and the questions he’d been leading to earlier in the day, and added, “I had a little visit with those two Russians who were out to see you the other day.”
“Karsovana and her servant?” Mordka’s heavy eyebrows rose in surprise. “But I thought they were going to travel on without delay, when we told her we knew nothing of her brother.”
“I’ll tell you something. I don’t think that lady’s got a brother.”
“Nor do I. Why do they still stay in Junction?”
“She says because she’s tired. But I’d say they aim to stick around, judging by the way she duded up her room at the hotel.”
“You have talked to her, then?”
“Sure. And she was just starting to ask me about the Brethren when we got interrupted.” Longarm didn’t specify the nature of the interruption, since he saw no need to worry Mordka.
“Inquiring about us?”
“She sure was,” the lawman confirmed.
“If she is curious, why should she ask you? Let her bring her questions here, to us. We have no secrets.”
“Except your wheat seed,” Longarm said, half-jokingly.
“Of course!” Danilov exclaimed. “It had not occurred to me. We brought the seeds from Russia!”
“Is that against the law over there?”
“My friend,” Mordka replied sadly, “in Russia the law is what the Tsar and his ministers say it will be.”
“Oh, now come on, Mordka! The Tsar’s a big, important man. He’s got a whole country to run. He’s bound to have a lot more on his mind than a handful or two of wheat seeds.”
“You do not understand how life is there. In Russia, when we say ‘the Tsar,’ we mean the whole imperial court, not just the one man who wears the crown. Even a minor official in the Agriculture Ministry, one who has nothing more to worry about than a handful of wheat seed, could be responsible for sending after us the agents of the Okhrana.”
His voice thoughtful, Longarm said, “You know, Mordka, the other day I didn’t pay much mind to what you said about Mrs. Karsovana and her servant being spies sent from Russia. Then, after she snagged onto me and, first thing, started asking questions about the Brethren—instead of that brother she claims to be looking for—I got to thinking your idea’s not as farfetched as I’d figured.”
“I am right, Marshal. You will see.”
“Maybe so. Only I don’t see what harm they could do you, here in this country.”
“Perhaps they could do no real harm at all, except to find some way to encourage Hawkins and the other cattlemen to keep harassing us. But even that would be a victory for them and defeat for the Brethren.”
“Well, I’ll keep an eye on them as best I can. Now I better be getting back to town. I’ve got a little bit of unfinished business I better tend to.”
“With Ilioana Karsovana?” Mordka asked.
“No, with another friend of yours. Oren Stone.”
* * *
“I’m sorry, Marshal,” Mae Bonner said when she opened the vestibule door in response to Longarm’s knock. “Really sorry this time, not just being nasty-polite, the way I was when you came here at first. But Mr. Stone’s not here, and that’s the truth.”
“You got any idea where he is?” Longarm asked as he adjusted his hatbrim and leaned against the doorjamb.
“No,” she answered, seeming a bit puzzled, then went on, “Well, I’ve got a general idea, but that’s all. He’s gone out to see the wheat farmers, but I don’t know which of the homesteads he planned to stop at.”
“I’ll make a guess why he went, and maybe you’ll tell me if I’m right. He was going to tell them he expects those options to be made good.”
“That’s right. He—” Mae looked over her shoulder as though she was afraid Stone might somehow overhear her— “he’s been like a wild man since the night of the shooting. Drinking more than I’ve ever seen him do before, shouting, pacing the floor, not able to sleep, not able even—” She stopped short.
On the occasions when Longarm had seen Mae Bonner before, he’d noticed her clear high-colored complexion, her faultless skin. He noticed, now, that she was wearing both rouge and a heavy coat of powder. Looking more closely, he was sure he could see the faint outline of a dark bruise under the makeup on one cheek.
“Not that it’s any of my business, but has he been taking his mad out on you?” he asked.
She seemed reluctant to answer. Finally she managed a low-voiced “Yes,” and continued in a whisper that wavered between unhappiness and defiance, “But it’s not any of your business, as you just said. I’m old enough to look after myself.”
“I’m not aiming to butt into anything private between you and Stone, Miss Bonner, but I’m right interested in knowing how he’s feeling. I’ll be coming back out here to talk to him later on. If he’s out in the country, he won’t be back until late, I guess, so I’ll wait until after supper.”
“Shall I tell him you’re going to come talk to him?”
“If you feel like it’s your duty to tell him, go ahead. If you just happen to forget, it sure wouldn’t make me mad.”
“I see. Well, I won’t make you any promise about that, Marshal. But you’ll probably find him here if you come back when you said you’re going to.”
* * *
Walking back across the sidings, Longarm had to move fast. A string of empty cattle cars was arriving from the Santa Fe’s mainline yards, and trainmen were spotting the cars on different sets of tracks. Workmen were going over the corral fences and loading chutes, replacing broken boards, testing the drop-gates, and generally getting things in order for the cattle shipments that were due to begin soon. It was a familiar scene to Longarm. He’d seen it repeated everywhere in cattle country, where sleepy towns awoke to sudden life during the two or three times a year when cowhands massed in large numbers rather than small groups during the arrival of gathered or trailed herds at a railhead.
On the last siding, a half-dozen boxcars were unloading the cargoes they’d brought from Wichita and Topeka, and from more distant points such as Kansas City, St. Louis, Chicago, and Denver. Wagons were lined up, waiting for the cars to be unloaded, to carry into town fresh merchandise for Stebbins’s store, kegs of beer and cases of liquor for the Cattleman’s and the Ace High, crates of eggs and bags of onions and potatoes, hams and slabs of bacon for the restaurant. Junction was getting ready for the fall fling of the ranch hands, most of whom would be anxious to blow off the head of steam built up during their long, dusty days on the prairie.
Longarm waited until a loaded wagon pulled away from one of the boxcars, and hailed the driver. The lift he asked for was given cheerfully, and he leaned back against the hard boards of the jouncing seat while the wagon rumbled into town. The same kind of buzzing activity that marked the railhead was being repeated in Junction, but on a smaller scale. One of the Ace High barkeeps was repainting the sign on the front of the saloon building, incongruous in his apron as he balanced on a ladder to reach the letters above the awning. Windows were being washed at the restaurant and the barbershop. The wizened night clerk of the hotel, who also did the portering chores during daytime hours, was replacing a broken board in the sidewalk in front of the door when Longarm arrived after dropping from the wagon in front of Stebbins’s store.
“Hey, Marshal!” the man hailed Longarm, dropping his hammer and reaching into his pocket. “I got a note for you from that foreign lady up in Room Seven. Said I was to give it to you personal, not put it in your box.”
Longarm took the slightly smudged and creased envelope the man handed him, and tore it open. The note was brief, inscribed on thick, creamy paper with an embossed, curlicued K at the top:
My dear Marshal Long:
I would like to make amends for ending so abruptly our visit which began so amiably. If you have no pressing matters that require your attention, please accept this invitation to call on me for a tête-à-tête this afternoon at any time after the hour of three.
Ilioana Karsovana.
“Well, now,” Longarm muttered as he walked up the stairs, “I wonder what she means by a tayte-ah-tayte? Guess I better go find out, seeing as I’ve got nothing better to do till Stone gets back.”
He stopped in his room long enough to run a comb through his wiry hair and make sure his mustache was smoothed down. As an antidote to the vodka that he expected he’d be offered, he took a quick swallow of Maryland rye. Then, with a fresh cheroot clamped between his teeth, he walked across the corridor and tapped on Madame Karsovana’s door.
With a flourish that might well have been accompanied by a roll of drums, Madame Karsovana threw the door open. She wore a flowing chiffon tea gown that stopped just short of being a negligee. The gown itself was a light cream, and the sea-green lace with which it was trimmed accented the deep V to which its neckline plunged in front, below, the cleavage of her full breasts. The high collar rose in back and presented a perfect frame to emphasize the golden glints of her hair, which today she wore piled in a loose bun at the back of her head. The lace darkened the ice green of her eyes, which were widened to match the expectant smile on her full, brilliantly red lips.
“It is kind of you to respond to my invitation, after the manner in which I had to end our last chat,” she greeted Longarm. “But come, sit down. We will begin today where we left off when Gregor so foolishly interrupted us.”
“Now that ought not to’ve upset you so, Mrs. Karsovana. Your manservant was only doing what he thought was best.”
“Please. Let us put formality aside. You may call me Ilioana, and I will call you— What is your given name, Marshal?” she said, waving him to a chair and taking his hat, which she put on the bureau.
“Well . . . it’s Custis, but I don’t get called that very much.”
“You have a familiar name, then,” she guessed. “A prosvische, we would say in Russia.”
“A lot of folks who know me pretty well call me Longarm.”
Madame Karsovana frowned prettily. “Longarm. Dlinno-rroka, it would be in my native tongue. In yours it sounds better. You will not object if I call you so?”
“Not a bit. Sounds better than my real one to me.”
She was still standing at the bureau. “I have a surprise for you. Look.” She held up a bottle of bonded Maryland rye, “I instructed Gregor to ask the porter if you did not keep in your room a bottle of your favorite liquor. So now you must drink this, and I will have vodka, which I don’t think you enjoyed greatly.”
Now that was thoughtful of you, Ilioana. I guess it’s because I’m so used to that, your vodka tasted sort of strange to me.”
“It is a drink to which one must become accustomed.” She brought the filled glasses over, gave Longarm the glass of rye, and took her own drink to a chair across from him. “Pei do dna, Longarm.”
After taking an appreciative sip of the rye, Longarm said, “Let’s see, we were talking about your brother who’s missing, the other day. I think I said—”
“No, no,” she interrupted. “We had put aside my problem for the moment to talk of my fellow countrymen, who seem to be having such a struggle here.”
“I guess we were, at that.” Longarm suppressed the smile that tried to struggle to his lips. Ilioana Karsovana had gone a long way toward confirming Mordka Danilov’s suspicions with her remark.
Ilioana leaned forward. Longarm’s eyes were drawn almost automatically to the valley between her breasts that the movement displayed, a shadowy, warm-looking crevice between soft, creamy bulges. Even with the distance between their chairs, he could catch the musky fragrance of her perfume.
“Truthfully, my friend, do you think my poor countrymen will be able to sell their crop of wheat for enough ready money to pay for the food they will need during the winter?” she asked.
“I haven’t heard any of them complaining that they were about to go bust,” he replied. “But I ain’t talked to them about things like that. Mostly I’ve been trying to stop the cattlemen from cutting their fences and tromping down their wheat.”
“There is bad blood between them and the ranchers who raise cattle—this I have heard,” she said. “Is your federal government worried that fighting will break out between them that might spread into a revolution, like the war between your north and south states?”
Longarm succeeded in keeping himself from laughing. When he was sure no hint of amusement would creep into his voice, he said, “Why, most folks never did call that war a revolution, Ilioana. Anyhow, it was a fuss over a lot more than a few acres of wheat land that used to be used for cattle range. It takes a lot more people than are mixed up in this little argument here to start a revolution.”
