Longarm - Longarm. Part 22

CHAPTER 27.

It seemed simple enough to Longarm, but Judge Hawkins made him repeat the whole story in front of a court reporter and Kim Stover and a few of the more stable folks from Crooked Lance he'd decided to let in. The hearing was held in the outer courtroom, with Timberline--or rather, Cotton Younger--stretched out under a sheet on the floor. The coroner said it had been the fall down the steps that finished him with a broken neck, though he'd have died within the hour from the bullet wound.

As the court reporter put it down on paper, Longarm explained, "The late Cotton Younger rode into Crooked Lance five or six years ago, wanted dead or alive in lots of places and worn out with running. He took the job offered him at the Rocking H, and discovered he had a good head for cows. They promoted him to foreman and he became a respected member of the valley community. He had a fine lady he was interested in, and maybe, if things had gone better for him, he'd have stayed straight and we'd have never known what happened to him."

Kim Stover cut in to insist again, "Timberline couldn't have been Cotton Younger! He doesn't answer those wanted-poster descriptions at all!"

"That's true, ma'am. He's a head taller now than his army records showed. But you see, he ran off from Terry's Column as a teenager. It sometimes happens that a boy gets a last growing spurt, along about twenty or so. He was tall when he rode into Crooked Lance. Taller than most. The rest of you probably didn't notice another saddle tramp at first. By the time it was important just how tall he really was, he was five or six inches taller. Must have been some comfort to him, when his real name came up in conversation, but as you see, he still dyed his hair."

"Where would he get dye like that?"

"It wasn't easy. He likely used ink. His hair was too black to be real. Not even an Indian has pure black hair. Natural brunettes have a brownish cast to their hair in sunlight. His was blue-black. I noticed that right off. Noticed a couple of slips, too. He knew the old man I found on the mountain had been shot, before I said one word about his being dead. Another time, he referred to Sailor Brown as the old tattooed man. I don't remember mentioning what I found under his beard to anyone in Crooked Lance, but a boy who'd ridden with him would have known about Brown's tattoos."

Judge Hawkins said, "I'll take your word for it you shot the right man, Deputy Long. Finish the story."

"All right. Cotton Younger was hankering after the widow Stover, here. Don't know if he had anything to do with her being a widow, so let's be charitable. Kim Stover and her friends liked to play vigilante when the cows were out minding themselves on the range. So when they spied the late Raymond Tinker just pa.s.sing through, they grabbed him, searched him, and found him with a running iron. Cotton Younger was just showing off as usual and there's no telling what they'd have done with the cow thief if the poor stranger hadn't answered to the old description of Cotton Younger!"

"That's the corpse you p.a.w.ned off on the Mountie, right?"

"Yessir. Had to. Once word was out that a sidekick of Jesse James was being held in Crooked Lance, every lawman in creation converged on the place to claim him for their own. While I was whittling away some of the compet.i.tion, the other dead man, here, was sweating bullets. You see, he didn't want lawmen sniffing around. Sooner or later, any one of us might have unmasked him as the real Cotton Younger. He got word by wire that Kincaid and another lawman from Missouri were riding in. He busted up the wire and laid for 'em. He knew anyone from Missouri might recognize him on sight, and by now, he was trying to pa.s.s the cow thief off on us as the real article."

"What about Sailor Brown? I thought he was a friend of Cotton Younger."

"He was. Or, that is, he used to be, in another life. Brown rode in with me, pretending to be some crazy old French Canuck, and aiming to get his old pal out. He never got to see the man in jail, but it didn't matter. When a bunch of us rode over to talk to this lady here about the fool notions her friends had on holding Tinker for the reward money, Sailor Brown took one look at what everybody called Timberline and knew what was up. He was also wanted himself, and the Mountie rattled him some by talking French to him. Brown didn't savvy more'n the accent. So Brown was riding out, likely laughing about how his young friend had slickered us all when said young friend put a bullet in him."

"To make certain no one in the outside world would ever learn of his new ident.i.ty, right?"

"there you go, Your Honor. That takes us to the midget, Cedric Hanks, and the lady being held over in that jail cell as a material witness. They were what they said they wer, bounty hunters. They knew they didn't have the weight to ride out with the prisoner. They only wanted him to tell 'em where the James Boys were, so they could collect on that much bigger bounty. They were playing their tune by ear, pumping the rest of us for information, obstructing us as best they could. Sort of like a kid tries to fix a stopped clock by hitting it a few licks and hoping."

"You say the midget was the more vicious of the pair?"

"No sir, I said the smartest and most dangerous. I've sent a few wires and gotten more on 'em to go with what the railroad detective first told me. Little Cedric had a habit of collecting his bounties the easy way and was probably in on more killings than we'd ever be able to prove. So it's just as well he made things simple for us by acting so foolish. He was at least a suspect when he got killed trying to escape, so my office says I'm not to worry about it overmuch. I intend to hold his wife seventy-two hours on suspicion anyway, before we cut her loose. She said some mean things about this other lady and she'd best cool off until Miz Stover's out of Salt Lake City."

Longarm turned to the redhead and said, "I've been meaning to ask about that set-to before. I went to all that trouble to get Cotton Younger in here peaceable, p.u.s.s.yfooted to get you gals out of the room before I announced his arrest, and there you two were, rolling and spitting like alley cats between us, and he was able to make a break for it!"

Kim Stover blushed and looked away, murmuring, "If you must know, she pa.s.sed a very improper remark and I slapped her sa.s.sy face for it. I suppose I shouldn't have, but she sort of blew up at me. After that, it's sort of confusing."

"I'd say you were winning when the bailiffs halled you apart. You're gonna have a mouse over that one eye by tonight, but she collected the most bruises."

"She bit me, too. I daren't say where."

Judge Hawkins took out his pocket watch and said, "we've about wrapped this case up, and d.a.m.ned neatly, too, considering. By the way, Deputy Long, do you know a Captain Walthers, from the Provost Marshal's office?"

"Yessir. They've heard about this over at Fort Douglas, have they?"

"Yes. I just got a hand-delivered message, demanding Cotton Younger as an army deserter."

"You reckon they'll get him, Your Honor?"

"Justice Department hand over spit to the War Department? I turned the fool message over and wrote, 'Surely you jest, sir!'"

"They won't think that's funny, Your Honor."

"So what. I thought it was funny as all h.e.l.l."

CHAPTER 28.

The train ride from Salt Lake City to Bitter Creek took about nine hours--a long time to go it alone and far too short a time sitting across from a very pretty redhead with a black eye.

They'd wound up things in Salt Lake City by mid-afternoon. So the sunset caught them more than half way to where Kim Stover and the others were getting off. They'd had dinner in the diner alone together, since the others were considerate, for cow hands, and Kim had stated that she was mourning Timberline's demise, and was ready to forgive and forget where Longarm was concerned. He'd asked a friendly colored feller for some ice for her eye, but all it seemed to do was run down inside her sleeve, so she'd given up. He thought she was as pretty as a picture in the evening light coming in through the dusty windows, anyway.

She was studying him, too, as the wheels under the Pullman car rumbled them ever closer to the time when they would have to say goodbye. She licked her lips and said, "Your cigar is out again."

"It's a cheroot. I'm trying to quit smoking."

"Don't you allow yourself any bad habits?"

"Got lots of bad habits, Miss Kim. I try not to let 'em get the better of me."

"Is that why you never married?"

He looked out at the pa.s.sing rangeland, orange and purple now, and said, "Soldiers, sailors, priests, and such should think twice before they marry. Lawmen should think three times and then not do it."

"I've heard of lots of lawmen who've gotten married."

"So have I. Knew a man who let 'em shoot him out of a circus cannon for a living, too. Didn't strike me as a trade I'd like to follow. He left a wife and three kids one night when he missed the net."

"A woman who thought enough of a man might be willing to take her chances on widowhood."

"Maybe. More to it than that. A man in my line makes enemies. I've got enough on my plate just watching MY own back. Could run a man crazy thinking of a wife and kids alone at home when he's off on a mission."

"Then you never intend to settle down?"

"After I retire, maybe. I'll be pensioned off before I'm fifty."

"Heavens! By the time I'm fifty we'll be into the twentieth century!"

"Reckon so. These centuries do have a way of slipping by on us, don't they?"

"You mean life, don't you? I'm staring thirty down at medium range and there's so much I've missed. So much I never got to do. My G.o.d, it does get tedious, raising COWS!"

Well, the price of beef is rising. You'll likely wind UP rich and married up with someone, soon enough."

She suddenly marveled, "My G.o.d, if You hadn't come along when you did, I might have married Timberline, in time! There's not much to choose from in Crooked Lance, and a woman does get lonesome."

"I know the feeling, ma'am. Reckon we were both lucky, the way it all came out in the wash."

"you mean you were lucky. You must be pretty pleased with yourself, right now. You got the man they sent you after, solved the murder of your missing partner, and made fools of your rival law officers. I'll bet they're waiting for you in Denver with a bra.s.s band!"

"Might get a few days off as a bonus. But I got a spell of travel ahead, first. This train won't be in Cheyenne 'til the wee, small hours. Pullman car is routed through to Denver, but we'll likely sit in the yards for a spell before they shunt it on to the Burlington line. Be lucky if we make Denver by noon."

She looked up at the ornate, polished paneling and said, "I never rode in a Pullman before. How do they fix it into bedrooms or whatever?"

"These seats sort of scrootch together over where our legs are, right now. A slab of the ceiling comes down to form an upper bunk, with the stuff that goes on this bottom one stored up there. They run canvas curtains around these seats. Then everybody just goes to bed."

"Hmm, it seems a mite improper. Folks sleeping all up and down this car with only canvas between 'em."

"The wheels click-clack enough to drown most sounds. I mean, sounds of snoring and such."

"Be a sort of unusual setting for, well, honeymooners, wouldn't it?"

"Don't know. Never had a honeymoon on a train."

"I never had one at all, d.a.m.n it. What time do you reckon they'll start making these fool beds up?"

"Later tonight. Maybe about the time we're pulling Into Rawlings."

"That's a couple of stops past Bitter Creek, ain't it?"

"Yep. We'll be getting to Bitter Creek before nine."

"Oh."

They rumbled on as night fell around them and the porter started lighting the oil lamps. Kim Stover rubbed at a cinder or something in her good eye and said, "I reckon I'll walk up to the freight section and see to my pony."

Longarm rose politely to his feet, but didn't follow as she swept past him and out. And likely out of his life, forever, a bit ahead of time.

He sat back down and stared out at the gathering darkness, wondering why he didn't feel like dancing. He'd pulled off a fine piece of work, with no loose ends worth mentioning and no items on his expense voucher they could chew hem out for, this time. Not even Marshal Vail would blanch at paying for that horse he'd lost, considering the laugh they'd had on the War Department. So why did he feel so let down?

It wasn't on account of shooting Cotton Younger. He'd been keyed up and braced for it ever since he'd noticed that funny blue shine to that too-black hair.

"Come on, old son," he murmured to his reflection in the dirty gla.s.s. "You know what's eating at you. You can't win 'em all! This time, you got into d.a.m.n near every skirt in sight. Including some you'll never know the who-all about! So just you leave that redheaded widow woman alone. She's the kind that needs false promises, and that ain't our style!"

The train ate up the miles in what seemed no time at all. Longarm couldn't believe it when the conductor came through, shouting, "Next stop Bitter Creek! All out for Bitter Creek!"

He glanced around, wondering if she was even coming back to say goodbye. It didn't seem she was. But, what the h.e.l.l, mebbe it was better this way.

He got to his feet and walked back to the observation car as the train slowed for Bitter Creek. He was out there, puffing his cigar, as the train pulled into the station.

He glanced over at the winking lights of the little cow town as, up near the front, the sounds of laughter and nickering horses told him they were unloading from the freight section. He started to lean out, maybe for a glimpse of red hair in the spattered, shifting light. But he never saw her.

Someone fired a pistol into the air with a joyous shout of homecoming. Even though they had a long, hard ride ahead, the Crooked Lancers were a lot closer to home than he was. Then again, he didn't have a home worth mentioning.

As laughter and the sound of hoofbeats filled the air, the train restarted with a jerk. He stood there, reeling backwards on his boot heels as they pulled out of the place where it had all started. Some riders waved their hats and a voice called out, "So long, Longarm!"

He didn't wave back. He threw the cheroot away and watched the lights of Bitter Creek drop back into the past. As they pa.s.sed a last, lighted window on the edge of town, he wondered who lived there and what it was like to live anywhere, permanently.

Then he shrugged and went inside. The observation car was dimly lit. The bartender had folded up and closed down the bar for the night. He walked the length of the train back to his own seat, noticing that they'd started making up the Pullman beds and that the centers of each car were now dim corridors of swaying green canvas that smelled like old army tents. After a short while he got up and went to his own berth and parted the curtains to get in.

Then he frowned and asked, "Where do you think you're going, Miss Kim?"

The redhead was half undressed on the bunk bed. So she just smiled shyly and said, "We'd best whisper, don't you reckon? I'm sort of spooked with all these other folks outside these canvas hangings."

He sat down as she moved against the window side to make room for him. He took off his gunbelt, saying softly, "You got lots of cows expecting you, Kim."

"I know. They'll keep. You warned me when we met I was destined to get in trouble with the law."

"Before I take off my boots, there's a few things you should know about me, honey."

"Hush. I'm not out to hogtie you, darling. I know the rules of the... game is sort of wicked-sounding. Let's just say I was hoping for at least two weeks with you before I go back to punching cows. You reckon we'll last two weeks?"

"Maybe longer. Takes most gals at least a month before they've heard all a man's stories and start nagging him about his table manners. I reckon that's why they call it the honeymoon."

"You must think I'm shameless, but d.a.m.n it, I'm almost thirty and it's been lonesome up in Crooked Lance!"

"don't spoil the wonder by trying to put words to it, honey. We got lots of time to talk about it between here and Denver."

And so they didn't discuss it as he took off his boots, removed his clothes, and finished undressing her in the swaying, dimly lit compartment while she tried not to giggle and the engine chuffed in time with their hearts.

A good two hours later, as the night train rolled on for Cheyenne, Kim raised her lips from his moist shoulder and murmured, "Will you tell me something, darling?"

He cuddled her body closer and asked, "What is it, kitten?"

"Am I as good in bed as that hussy, Mabel Hanks?"

He didn't answer.

She raked her nails teasingly through the hair on his chest as she purred, "Come on. I know you had her. She told me something about you that I thought at the time she had to be making up."

"That why you tagged along?"

"Partly. But I'm afraid I might be in love with you, too. But, yeah, it pays to advertise. I thought she was just bragging, but I'm glad she was right about you."

He decided silence was his best move at the moment. But she moved her hand down his belly and insisted, "come on. 'Fess up. Am I as good as Mabel?"

"Honey, there ain't no comparison. You're at least ten times better."

"Then prove it to me. Let's do it some more."

So they did. But even as her lush flesh accepted his once more, he found himself wondering. Did this make it Kim Stover and her mother-in-law, Kim Stover and her sister-in-law, or all three of the Stover women?