Longarm 382, page 9
“Whiskey will be fine for the time being,” Longarm replied, aware that the men at the bar were taking his full measure.
His eyesight was improving rapidly and Longarm could see now well enough to navigate himself around a pickle barrel and up to the empty section of the bar. He leaned his right hip against it so that the gun on his left hip facing butt forward was in plain sight. The woman found a glass and a bottle and plunked them both on the bar top.
“One dollar for you and these men, senor,” she said, gesturing to the others. “And when you finish, maybe you and that Indian had better go away.”
“Rosa, shut your mouth,” one of the men growled. “If the man has money, he can stay just as long as he keeps buying us all drinks.”
Longarm poured his glass and then went down to the four men and offered the bottle. There was no thank-you or even a nod of appreciation.
“Where you from?” one of the men asked.
“Holbrook.”
“That a fact?”
“It is,” Longarm assured the man.
“What is your business up here?”
Longarm tossed down his whiskey and then turned to stare at the man. “Where I come from, men aren’t in the habit of asking other men either their business or where they came from or are headed.”
The man flushed with anger and he stepped away from the bar with his hand poised over the butt of his six-gun. “Mister, I don’t give a good gawdamn what men do where you come from. I just asked you a question and I expect a quick and civil answer!”
This sure wasn’t the first time in his lawman’s career that someone had demanded to know his business, and so Longarm had a quick and ready answer. “I’m a speculator,” he said.
“A what?”
“A speculator. I speculate in anything that I can buy cheap and then turn it around and sell high for a sizable profit. That includes Indian jewelry, rugs, horses, watches, knives, gold, silver, guns . . . whatever. If the price is right, I’ll buy it for resale.”
The man who had confronted Longarm frowned. “You’re nothin’ but a trader is what you are. Speculator sounds way too grand a handle for a fella that just buys up things to make a quick profit.”
“Call me a trader if you want,” Longarm said nonchalantly. “It doesn’t matter a whit to me. Do any of you gentlemen have anything you’d like to sell me cheap?”
The one who seemed to be the leader of this collection of ugly misfits stood about six foot tall with broad, sloping shoulders and a bull neck. Like his companions he was so unwashed that he stunk, and his shirt was stained with dirt, grease and all kinds of unpleasant things. He had a beard, but it was scraggly and matted and his hair was black, stringy and long.
“What do they call you?” Longarm asked.
“Bull.” He hammered his thick chest. “That’s what I’m called. What’s your handle, stranger?”
“Custis.” Longarm turned to the other three, who were eyeballing him with suspicion. “And your fine friends?”
Bull thought about it for a moment and then relaxed. “The little fella is Shorty, the fat one is Gordo and the other is Dennison.”
Longarm knew better than to offer his hand in friendship. And when he had sized them all up, he figured that the tall, lean one with the angular face was probably the most dangerous. Yes, Dennison looked like a professional gunslinger with his rig tied to his right hip and that fancy holster.
“Well, boys,” Longarm said, mustering up all the cheeriness he could in his voice. “Let’s have another round of drinks on me!”
The four men exchanged glances and Bull said, “The first bottle ain’t gonna last very long.”
“I’ll buy more,” Longarm told him. “I’ll buy as many as we need to get stinking drunk.”
Bull actually smiled, though when he did he displayed two missing front teeth and a whole lot of rotting in his mouth. “Maybe you’re gonna be all right, Custis.”
“Glad to hear that, but I’m just passing through. I had been told that there was a fella named Fergus Horn who owned this trading post, and that his wife was quite the looker. I believe her name is Veronica.”
Bull’s smile faded. “Mr. Horn doesn’t like men looking at his wife . . . or even speaking to her. Best that you know that right now so you don’t get your throat cut or your balls sliced off.”
“Oh,” Longarm said, throwing up both hands in a gesture of complete agreement. “I would never try to insult or get familiar with another man’s wife . . .” He winked. “Unless she’s pretty and willing.”
Dennison barked a laugh and so did Shorty and Gordo. Bull wasn’t sure how to react, so he just picked up the bottle and poured himself another drink until his glass overflowed. Then, turning to Longarm and raising his glass, he said, “Here’s to life and to women, the prettier the better. And when are Mr. Horn and his wife coming back? I’d like to see if I can do a little trading with the man.”
“Mr. Horn doesn’t tell us when he leaves or where he’s goin’ or when he’s comin’ back. All we do is to make sure that when he’s gone nobody comes here and robs his trading post.” Bull made a gesture to include the big room. “As you can plainly see, there is hundreds of dollars’ worth of goods here. Sugar, beans, flour by the barrel but also crackers and blankets, rifles, picks, shovels, bullets and knives. There’s just about everything a man could ask for or need in this country.”
Longarm nodded in agreement.
Bull said, “What did you buy and sell in Holbrook, Custis?”
“Huh?”
“You said you had ridden up from Holbrook. That’s maybe three hundred miles across some hard, damned dry country. Are you tellin’ me that you did that all by your lonesome?”
“Yeah,” Longarm said, stiffening as if he had been grievously insulted and moving his hand closer to his six-gun. “And are you telling me that you think I’m a liar ?”
Bull’s smile died and he shot a glance at Dennison, who stepped away from the bar. “I’m not calling you anything. Why, I’d be seven times a damned fool to insult the man who is buyin’ the drinks, wouldn’t I?”
“You would,” Longarm told him. “And you don’t look like a fool to me, and neither do your three friends.”
“Then let’s all just calm down and get drunk,” Bull said. “It’s always a pleasure to meet a new friend.”
“I agree,” Longarm said, relieved that Dennison had turned back to his drink. “But you boys still haven’t told me if you have anything that you want to sell.”
“I’ve got a pocket watch I’d probably be willin’ to part with for the right price,” Gordo offered, dragging a dull brass watch of little value out of his grimy vest. “I’d probably take only five dollars for ’er.”
“Yeah,” Longarm said, barely giving the cheap watch a glance. “I’ll just bet that you would. But I’m not interested in pocket watches. I was hoping that I might find some quality Navajo gold or silver jewelry.”
Shorty scoffed. “Hell, we don’t wear jewelry, but the Indians have a real hankerin’ for turquoise and silver jewelry. You can buy a barrelful of that shiny crap for only a few dollars.”
“Maybe I will,” Longarm said, signaling Rosa to bring them another bottle. “Let’s drink up, and then I’m going to see if I can get one of those women to rustle me up some food.”
Dennison snickered. “For pocket change, any one of ’em will rustle up your bean and pump it dry, if you want. They ain’t all that bad with their tongues and mouths, either. They ain’t got hardly no teeth to nip you with, so you don’t have to worry about a bite.”
The four men chuckled, and Longarm turned to see all the woman stiffen at the crude insults. “Well,” he said, “I’m not interested in that as much as I am in getting drunk and fed.”
“Rosa!” Bull shouted. “Get this man a plate of beans and beef to go with his whiskey!”
Rosa headed out of the room into what Longarm supposed was a kitchen. He followed her a few steps and called out, “And when you fetch me up a plate, take another to that half-breed fella outside. His name is Ira.”
“Why, Custis, a few minutes ago you said he wasn’t any damned friend of yours,” Gordo challenged.
“He isn’t. But Ira did help guide me across the reservation, and I kind of feel obligated to make sure that he at least eats.”
“He ain’t nothin’ but a dirty redskin.”
Longarm wanted badly to tell Gordo that he and his friends were actually the real filthy and dirty ones, but he kept his silence a moment, then turned to look at Rosa. “Feed Ira and tell him I’ll be around tomorrow.”
She nodded and Longarm almost thought he saw the hint of a smile cross her round, sad face.
Chapter 12
It was well after midnight and Longarm was feeling no pain when he exited the trading post with the four gunmen passed out on the dirt floor. He took a few deep breaths, then headed out toward the corrals, wanting to speak to Ira.
Gripping the rough poles of the corral, he turned back to look at the trading post and realized he was seeing double. In his determination to get the four gunmen dead drunk, he’d gotten pretty drunk himself.
“Ira?”
The half-breed appeared like ghost out of the night. “I’m here.”
“As we expected, Fergus Horn and his wife are gone. I couldn’t find out where they went or when they’ll return because I’m sure that neither Bull nor any of the others knows the answer to that question. What I did learn is that Mrs. Horn is still alive and she is with Horn. I kind of got the impression that she had tried to run away a few times, so now Horn takes her with him whenever he leaves.”
“Makes sense, I guess.”
“I don’t know if they’re looking for gold or silver . . . or maybe just trading,” Longarm continued. “But what I do know is that they admitted that Horn was intent on stirring up a hornet’s nest on your reservation.”
Ira simply nodded.
Longarm added, “We can wait here for them to return or we can try and find them. I understand that you are an excellent tracker.”
“I can track men, horses . . . most anything.”
“Then I think we ought to leave this trading post and see if you can pick up the tracks that Horn and his wife left. I’m sure that you can tell us how many men are riding with Horn and perhaps we can find out exactly what they are up to.”
“Are you going to kill those four hired gunmen inside?”
Longarm shook his head. “I’m a United States Marshal and I can’t kill anyone unless they try to kill me first.”
“They will try . . . sooner or later.”
“I expect so.”
“Then you should kill them now. I will help.”
“No,” Longarm said flatly. “They’re dead drunk, and killing them would be equal to an execution. I can’t have that on my conscience and I won’t put it on yours, either.”
Ira shrugged to let him know that his conscience could stand the load.
“Let’s go into the trading post and help ourselves to what we need. The women won’t object.”
“No,” Ira said. “They won’t object. They are captives, and if we leave them here they might kill those four men before daybreak and then run off.”
“Would they get far?”
“Depends on how soon Horn returns and finds them missing. If they have three or four days, the slave women might get away and not be caught.”
Longarm considered what the half-breed had just told him. “Do you think that they would actually kill those four?”
Ira nodded. “Yes, and they would kill those men tonight. They have suffered much from those men.”
“I could talk to them. Try to make them promise to leave the four men alone and unhurt.”
“They wouldn’t promise you anything,” Ira told him.
“They will kill those four. They already told me that they have wanted to do that for a long time. But mostly they would like to kill Horn.”
“If the slave women are so determined to exact blood revenge on Bull, Dennison, Gordo and Shorty, then we’ll just have to take them with us. If the women commit cold-blooded murder, even I couldn’t stop them from eventually being caught and hanged.”
“It would not be good to take the women with us,” Ira told him.
“What other choice do we have?”
Ira did not reply, but the idea of taking four slave women to try and track down Fergus Horn and however many gunmen he had riding with him was very troubling.
After further discussion, Longarm and Ira decided that they would take all the trading post horses so that when the four gunmen woke up they would have no way to leave or create additional problems.
“I have spoken to the slave women and they are happy to ride with us tonight to go after Horn. The handsome one named Josie says she is a good shot and she asks if she could have the honor of killing Horn. They say that they will hitch up four ponies to a buckboard, and we have two extra to tie to the wagon. We’ll take plenty of food and ammunition, and all the guns they find in the trading post.”
“Good,” Longarm said. “But I can’t have Josie or any of them just opening fire on Horn and his men. That simply won’t do.”
“When we find Horn and his gunmen, either they will kill us . . . or we will kill them first.”
Longarm’s head was pounding and he listened to a coyote’s mournful cry, which, at the moment, reflected his own dark and melancholy mood. “Ira, I’m hoping to confront Fergus Horn and get to the bottom of what he is doing up here. Also, there is some real concern that his ex-wife, Veronica, is being held against her free will. She wrote a desperate note and it managed to reach Denver. That’s why I was sent here . . . to find that woman and make sure that she is all right and not being held a captive. I’m also here to stop any trouble that Horn might be causing among the Navajo.”
“We will find these men,” Ira promised. “But I do not like the idea of the slave women coming with us.”
“I don’t like it either, but what choice do I have if they are so determined to murder Gordo, Dennison, Bull and Shorty?”
“Let them kill those four.”
“I already told you that I can’t do that. So let’s quit the talk and get ready to travel.”
The half-breed went into the trading post to speak with the women again and tell them of the plan. Longarm walked out to the rim of the canyon and sat down on a rock. Things were moving damned fast, and this idea of the four slave women coming along with him really was an unexpected complication he did not need. Josie was the pretty one, but the moment he had laid eyes upon her he knew she was filled with hatred for the trading post whites and would kill them at the first opportunity.
“What a mess,” he said to himself as he massaged his throbbing temples. “I can’t believe what I’m getting myself into.”
Longarm enjoyed a cigar now and then, and he had bought a couple in the trading post a short while ago while drinking with the four gunmen. Now, he lit one of the cigars and immediately grimaced because the tobacco was so foul. He tossed the cigar out into space, got up and trudged back toward the trading post. Out in front was a horse watering trough, and he dunked his head into it just to clear his brain.
“It’s gonna be interesting the next few days,” he said to the moon. “And I got a bad feeling that I’ve bitten off a whole lot more than I can chew.”
Ira came outside. “The slave women have tied up the four men hand and foot. They will not be able to get free for many hours after they awake. It will give us even more time.”
“I don’t imagine they’ll be in any shape to walk after us.”
“No walking for those men. After tying them, the slave women took off their boots and cut the bottoms of their feet.” Ira smiled. “They will not walk anywhere for a long time.”
Longarm’s jaw dropped. “The slave women cut the soles of their bare feet?
Ira dipped his chin. “They wanted to cut their throats, but cutting their feet is also good.”
“I didn’t even hear those four men scream.”
“Men gagged. Hit over the heads, too.”
Longarm shook his head. “We’d better pack up the buckboard and get moving before the slave women do something really terrible.”
“Like cutting off their balls?” Ira asked with a slight smile.
“Yeah, exactly.”
“They wanted to do that, too,” Ira confessed. “But I thought they might all bleed to death, and I understand that the white man’s court would call it murder and you said they would hang for that.”
“I sure did!” Longarm shook the cold water from his hair and growled. “I want to be out of here before daybreak, so let’s get that buckboard hitched up and loaded. I have a feeling this is going to be a long, hard day.”
“Slave women very happy to leave this trading post. Horn make them work very hard in the day and then keep all his men happy after dark. Slave women say that, after we kill Horn and his men, we all can finally go home.”
“Yeah,” Longarm agreed, thinking of Molly Malloy and his comfortable Denver apartment. “It will be good if we all can go home.”
Chapter 13
Because he’d gotten a tad tight the night before while trying to extract any information he could about Fergus Horn and his troublemaking, Longarm was feeling rather punk that morning when they finally left the trading post. He’d sent Ira off to the northeast to begin looking for Horn’s tracks, but Longarm wasn’t too hopeful there would be any to find, given the heavy rainstorms that had recently ravaged this vast red-rock country.
The four former slave women were silent all morning as Rosa drove the ill-matched team of Indian ponies along. The ponies, it turned out, had never really been put in harness before, and they’d put up one hell of a fight when they were asked to pull the buckboard and four women. But Josie had proven to be excellent with horses, and after a half hour or so, she’d managed to get them all harnessed and pulling more or less in tandem.
Every time Longarm peered over his shoulder at the runty Indian ponies, the creaky buckboard and the four former slave women, he had to shake his head in amazement and dismay. This was not how a highly regarded federal marshal was supposed to conduct a manhunt. After all the years that Longarm had worn a badge, he could not remember being in such a pathetic fix, nor had he heard of any other marshal getting into such a predicament. Yet, what else could he do but take these women along? Ira had told him without hesitation that the slave women would have murdered the four gunmen back at that damned trading post.
His eyesight was improving rapidly and Longarm could see now well enough to navigate himself around a pickle barrel and up to the empty section of the bar. He leaned his right hip against it so that the gun on his left hip facing butt forward was in plain sight. The woman found a glass and a bottle and plunked them both on the bar top.
“One dollar for you and these men, senor,” she said, gesturing to the others. “And when you finish, maybe you and that Indian had better go away.”
“Rosa, shut your mouth,” one of the men growled. “If the man has money, he can stay just as long as he keeps buying us all drinks.”
Longarm poured his glass and then went down to the four men and offered the bottle. There was no thank-you or even a nod of appreciation.
“Where you from?” one of the men asked.
“Holbrook.”
“That a fact?”
“It is,” Longarm assured the man.
“What is your business up here?”
Longarm tossed down his whiskey and then turned to stare at the man. “Where I come from, men aren’t in the habit of asking other men either their business or where they came from or are headed.”
The man flushed with anger and he stepped away from the bar with his hand poised over the butt of his six-gun. “Mister, I don’t give a good gawdamn what men do where you come from. I just asked you a question and I expect a quick and civil answer!”
This sure wasn’t the first time in his lawman’s career that someone had demanded to know his business, and so Longarm had a quick and ready answer. “I’m a speculator,” he said.
“A what?”
“A speculator. I speculate in anything that I can buy cheap and then turn it around and sell high for a sizable profit. That includes Indian jewelry, rugs, horses, watches, knives, gold, silver, guns . . . whatever. If the price is right, I’ll buy it for resale.”
The man who had confronted Longarm frowned. “You’re nothin’ but a trader is what you are. Speculator sounds way too grand a handle for a fella that just buys up things to make a quick profit.”
“Call me a trader if you want,” Longarm said nonchalantly. “It doesn’t matter a whit to me. Do any of you gentlemen have anything you’d like to sell me cheap?”
The one who seemed to be the leader of this collection of ugly misfits stood about six foot tall with broad, sloping shoulders and a bull neck. Like his companions he was so unwashed that he stunk, and his shirt was stained with dirt, grease and all kinds of unpleasant things. He had a beard, but it was scraggly and matted and his hair was black, stringy and long.
“What do they call you?” Longarm asked.
“Bull.” He hammered his thick chest. “That’s what I’m called. What’s your handle, stranger?”
“Custis.” Longarm turned to the other three, who were eyeballing him with suspicion. “And your fine friends?”
Bull thought about it for a moment and then relaxed. “The little fella is Shorty, the fat one is Gordo and the other is Dennison.”
Longarm knew better than to offer his hand in friendship. And when he had sized them all up, he figured that the tall, lean one with the angular face was probably the most dangerous. Yes, Dennison looked like a professional gunslinger with his rig tied to his right hip and that fancy holster.
“Well, boys,” Longarm said, mustering up all the cheeriness he could in his voice. “Let’s have another round of drinks on me!”
The four men exchanged glances and Bull said, “The first bottle ain’t gonna last very long.”
“I’ll buy more,” Longarm told him. “I’ll buy as many as we need to get stinking drunk.”
Bull actually smiled, though when he did he displayed two missing front teeth and a whole lot of rotting in his mouth. “Maybe you’re gonna be all right, Custis.”
“Glad to hear that, but I’m just passing through. I had been told that there was a fella named Fergus Horn who owned this trading post, and that his wife was quite the looker. I believe her name is Veronica.”
Bull’s smile faded. “Mr. Horn doesn’t like men looking at his wife . . . or even speaking to her. Best that you know that right now so you don’t get your throat cut or your balls sliced off.”
“Oh,” Longarm said, throwing up both hands in a gesture of complete agreement. “I would never try to insult or get familiar with another man’s wife . . .” He winked. “Unless she’s pretty and willing.”
Dennison barked a laugh and so did Shorty and Gordo. Bull wasn’t sure how to react, so he just picked up the bottle and poured himself another drink until his glass overflowed. Then, turning to Longarm and raising his glass, he said, “Here’s to life and to women, the prettier the better. And when are Mr. Horn and his wife coming back? I’d like to see if I can do a little trading with the man.”
“Mr. Horn doesn’t tell us when he leaves or where he’s goin’ or when he’s comin’ back. All we do is to make sure that when he’s gone nobody comes here and robs his trading post.” Bull made a gesture to include the big room. “As you can plainly see, there is hundreds of dollars’ worth of goods here. Sugar, beans, flour by the barrel but also crackers and blankets, rifles, picks, shovels, bullets and knives. There’s just about everything a man could ask for or need in this country.”
Longarm nodded in agreement.
Bull said, “What did you buy and sell in Holbrook, Custis?”
“Huh?”
“You said you had ridden up from Holbrook. That’s maybe three hundred miles across some hard, damned dry country. Are you tellin’ me that you did that all by your lonesome?”
“Yeah,” Longarm said, stiffening as if he had been grievously insulted and moving his hand closer to his six-gun. “And are you telling me that you think I’m a liar ?”
Bull’s smile died and he shot a glance at Dennison, who stepped away from the bar. “I’m not calling you anything. Why, I’d be seven times a damned fool to insult the man who is buyin’ the drinks, wouldn’t I?”
“You would,” Longarm told him. “And you don’t look like a fool to me, and neither do your three friends.”
“Then let’s all just calm down and get drunk,” Bull said. “It’s always a pleasure to meet a new friend.”
“I agree,” Longarm said, relieved that Dennison had turned back to his drink. “But you boys still haven’t told me if you have anything that you want to sell.”
“I’ve got a pocket watch I’d probably be willin’ to part with for the right price,” Gordo offered, dragging a dull brass watch of little value out of his grimy vest. “I’d probably take only five dollars for ’er.”
“Yeah,” Longarm said, barely giving the cheap watch a glance. “I’ll just bet that you would. But I’m not interested in pocket watches. I was hoping that I might find some quality Navajo gold or silver jewelry.”
Shorty scoffed. “Hell, we don’t wear jewelry, but the Indians have a real hankerin’ for turquoise and silver jewelry. You can buy a barrelful of that shiny crap for only a few dollars.”
“Maybe I will,” Longarm said, signaling Rosa to bring them another bottle. “Let’s drink up, and then I’m going to see if I can get one of those women to rustle me up some food.”
Dennison snickered. “For pocket change, any one of ’em will rustle up your bean and pump it dry, if you want. They ain’t all that bad with their tongues and mouths, either. They ain’t got hardly no teeth to nip you with, so you don’t have to worry about a bite.”
The four men chuckled, and Longarm turned to see all the woman stiffen at the crude insults. “Well,” he said, “I’m not interested in that as much as I am in getting drunk and fed.”
“Rosa!” Bull shouted. “Get this man a plate of beans and beef to go with his whiskey!”
Rosa headed out of the room into what Longarm supposed was a kitchen. He followed her a few steps and called out, “And when you fetch me up a plate, take another to that half-breed fella outside. His name is Ira.”
“Why, Custis, a few minutes ago you said he wasn’t any damned friend of yours,” Gordo challenged.
“He isn’t. But Ira did help guide me across the reservation, and I kind of feel obligated to make sure that he at least eats.”
“He ain’t nothin’ but a dirty redskin.”
Longarm wanted badly to tell Gordo that he and his friends were actually the real filthy and dirty ones, but he kept his silence a moment, then turned to look at Rosa. “Feed Ira and tell him I’ll be around tomorrow.”
She nodded and Longarm almost thought he saw the hint of a smile cross her round, sad face.
Chapter 12
It was well after midnight and Longarm was feeling no pain when he exited the trading post with the four gunmen passed out on the dirt floor. He took a few deep breaths, then headed out toward the corrals, wanting to speak to Ira.
Gripping the rough poles of the corral, he turned back to look at the trading post and realized he was seeing double. In his determination to get the four gunmen dead drunk, he’d gotten pretty drunk himself.
“Ira?”
The half-breed appeared like ghost out of the night. “I’m here.”
“As we expected, Fergus Horn and his wife are gone. I couldn’t find out where they went or when they’ll return because I’m sure that neither Bull nor any of the others knows the answer to that question. What I did learn is that Mrs. Horn is still alive and she is with Horn. I kind of got the impression that she had tried to run away a few times, so now Horn takes her with him whenever he leaves.”
“Makes sense, I guess.”
“I don’t know if they’re looking for gold or silver . . . or maybe just trading,” Longarm continued. “But what I do know is that they admitted that Horn was intent on stirring up a hornet’s nest on your reservation.”
Ira simply nodded.
Longarm added, “We can wait here for them to return or we can try and find them. I understand that you are an excellent tracker.”
“I can track men, horses . . . most anything.”
“Then I think we ought to leave this trading post and see if you can pick up the tracks that Horn and his wife left. I’m sure that you can tell us how many men are riding with Horn and perhaps we can find out exactly what they are up to.”
“Are you going to kill those four hired gunmen inside?”
Longarm shook his head. “I’m a United States Marshal and I can’t kill anyone unless they try to kill me first.”
“They will try . . . sooner or later.”
“I expect so.”
“Then you should kill them now. I will help.”
“No,” Longarm said flatly. “They’re dead drunk, and killing them would be equal to an execution. I can’t have that on my conscience and I won’t put it on yours, either.”
Ira shrugged to let him know that his conscience could stand the load.
“Let’s go into the trading post and help ourselves to what we need. The women won’t object.”
“No,” Ira said. “They won’t object. They are captives, and if we leave them here they might kill those four men before daybreak and then run off.”
“Would they get far?”
“Depends on how soon Horn returns and finds them missing. If they have three or four days, the slave women might get away and not be caught.”
Longarm considered what the half-breed had just told him. “Do you think that they would actually kill those four?”
Ira nodded. “Yes, and they would kill those men tonight. They have suffered much from those men.”
“I could talk to them. Try to make them promise to leave the four men alone and unhurt.”
“They wouldn’t promise you anything,” Ira told him.
“They will kill those four. They already told me that they have wanted to do that for a long time. But mostly they would like to kill Horn.”
“If the slave women are so determined to exact blood revenge on Bull, Dennison, Gordo and Shorty, then we’ll just have to take them with us. If the women commit cold-blooded murder, even I couldn’t stop them from eventually being caught and hanged.”
“It would not be good to take the women with us,” Ira told him.
“What other choice do we have?”
Ira did not reply, but the idea of taking four slave women to try and track down Fergus Horn and however many gunmen he had riding with him was very troubling.
After further discussion, Longarm and Ira decided that they would take all the trading post horses so that when the four gunmen woke up they would have no way to leave or create additional problems.
“I have spoken to the slave women and they are happy to ride with us tonight to go after Horn. The handsome one named Josie says she is a good shot and she asks if she could have the honor of killing Horn. They say that they will hitch up four ponies to a buckboard, and we have two extra to tie to the wagon. We’ll take plenty of food and ammunition, and all the guns they find in the trading post.”
“Good,” Longarm said. “But I can’t have Josie or any of them just opening fire on Horn and his men. That simply won’t do.”
“When we find Horn and his gunmen, either they will kill us . . . or we will kill them first.”
Longarm’s head was pounding and he listened to a coyote’s mournful cry, which, at the moment, reflected his own dark and melancholy mood. “Ira, I’m hoping to confront Fergus Horn and get to the bottom of what he is doing up here. Also, there is some real concern that his ex-wife, Veronica, is being held against her free will. She wrote a desperate note and it managed to reach Denver. That’s why I was sent here . . . to find that woman and make sure that she is all right and not being held a captive. I’m also here to stop any trouble that Horn might be causing among the Navajo.”
“We will find these men,” Ira promised. “But I do not like the idea of the slave women coming with us.”
“I don’t like it either, but what choice do I have if they are so determined to murder Gordo, Dennison, Bull and Shorty?”
“Let them kill those four.”
“I already told you that I can’t do that. So let’s quit the talk and get ready to travel.”
The half-breed went into the trading post to speak with the women again and tell them of the plan. Longarm walked out to the rim of the canyon and sat down on a rock. Things were moving damned fast, and this idea of the four slave women coming along with him really was an unexpected complication he did not need. Josie was the pretty one, but the moment he had laid eyes upon her he knew she was filled with hatred for the trading post whites and would kill them at the first opportunity.
“What a mess,” he said to himself as he massaged his throbbing temples. “I can’t believe what I’m getting myself into.”
Longarm enjoyed a cigar now and then, and he had bought a couple in the trading post a short while ago while drinking with the four gunmen. Now, he lit one of the cigars and immediately grimaced because the tobacco was so foul. He tossed the cigar out into space, got up and trudged back toward the trading post. Out in front was a horse watering trough, and he dunked his head into it just to clear his brain.
“It’s gonna be interesting the next few days,” he said to the moon. “And I got a bad feeling that I’ve bitten off a whole lot more than I can chew.”
Ira came outside. “The slave women have tied up the four men hand and foot. They will not be able to get free for many hours after they awake. It will give us even more time.”
“I don’t imagine they’ll be in any shape to walk after us.”
“No walking for those men. After tying them, the slave women took off their boots and cut the bottoms of their feet.” Ira smiled. “They will not walk anywhere for a long time.”
Longarm’s jaw dropped. “The slave women cut the soles of their bare feet?
Ira dipped his chin. “They wanted to cut their throats, but cutting their feet is also good.”
“I didn’t even hear those four men scream.”
“Men gagged. Hit over the heads, too.”
Longarm shook his head. “We’d better pack up the buckboard and get moving before the slave women do something really terrible.”
“Like cutting off their balls?” Ira asked with a slight smile.
“Yeah, exactly.”
“They wanted to do that, too,” Ira confessed. “But I thought they might all bleed to death, and I understand that the white man’s court would call it murder and you said they would hang for that.”
“I sure did!” Longarm shook the cold water from his hair and growled. “I want to be out of here before daybreak, so let’s get that buckboard hitched up and loaded. I have a feeling this is going to be a long, hard day.”
“Slave women very happy to leave this trading post. Horn make them work very hard in the day and then keep all his men happy after dark. Slave women say that, after we kill Horn and his men, we all can finally go home.”
“Yeah,” Longarm agreed, thinking of Molly Malloy and his comfortable Denver apartment. “It will be good if we all can go home.”
Chapter 13
Because he’d gotten a tad tight the night before while trying to extract any information he could about Fergus Horn and his troublemaking, Longarm was feeling rather punk that morning when they finally left the trading post. He’d sent Ira off to the northeast to begin looking for Horn’s tracks, but Longarm wasn’t too hopeful there would be any to find, given the heavy rainstorms that had recently ravaged this vast red-rock country.
The four former slave women were silent all morning as Rosa drove the ill-matched team of Indian ponies along. The ponies, it turned out, had never really been put in harness before, and they’d put up one hell of a fight when they were asked to pull the buckboard and four women. But Josie had proven to be excellent with horses, and after a half hour or so, she’d managed to get them all harnessed and pulling more or less in tandem.
Every time Longarm peered over his shoulder at the runty Indian ponies, the creaky buckboard and the four former slave women, he had to shake his head in amazement and dismay. This was not how a highly regarded federal marshal was supposed to conduct a manhunt. After all the years that Longarm had worn a badge, he could not remember being in such a pathetic fix, nor had he heard of any other marshal getting into such a predicament. Yet, what else could he do but take these women along? Ira had told him without hesitation that the slave women would have murdered the four gunmen back at that damned trading post.
