Longarm - Longarm. Part 8

"Ain't. I've been counting strikes. I'd say knowing one of Billy the Kid's less written-up handles makes it strike three. You mind telling me who the h.e.l.l you are?"

Weed suddenly rose from the chair frowning through a cloud of tobacco smoke as he asked, "Strike what? What in tarnation's got into you? I told you I was Sheriff Weed of Clay County, Missouri!"

"That was strike one. I didn't see why a county sheriff would ride all the way out here in person, 'stead of sending a deputy, in an election year. But, like I said, that was just strike one. You coulda been a dumb sheriff from Missouri."

"I don't like being called dumb, but have your full say, son."

"All right. Last afternoon, over by the jailhouse, you called Chambrun du Val an hombre. That was strike two, Weed. Folks from Missouri don't call men hombres. That's Southwest talk. Maybe Texas or New Mexico. But, what the h.e.l.l, you could have picked it up from Ned Buntline's magazine or somebody you rode with one time, and anyway, you don't call a man out on two strikes, so I waited till you let that slip about the Lincoln County War, down in the Southwest..."

The man calling himself Sheriff Weed went for the S&W at his side. He didn't make it. Longarm fired, sitting, with the derringer he'd been holding in his lap, then dove headfirst and rolled across the gra.s.s, whipping out his sixgun as he bounded to his feet, dancing sideways as he trained it at the end of the veranda.

Then he stopped and lowered the unfired.44, knowing he didn't have to use it now. The man called Weed was spread-eagled in the dust beyond the end of the planks, his heels up on the veranda with his hat between them. As Longarm moved over to stare soberly down at the glazed eyes staring sightlessly up at him, he was joined by the other two lawmen and the odd detective team.

Captain Walthers gasped, "My G.o.d! Did you have to kill him?" and the Mountie shouted, "You can't be serious! I know that man! He's the sheriff of Clay County, Missouri!"

Longarm shook his head and said, "Not hardly. Maybe something on him or in his possibles can tell us who he really was."

As Longarm knelt to go through the dead man's pockets, a bunch of local cowhands and Kim Stover ran around the corner of the building. The storekeeper, himself, came out cursing, but with neither his wife nor his daughter in evidence.

At the same time, Timberline rounded the cl.u.s.ter of buildings on the far side, gun in hand. He slowed down as he took in what had happened and approached the crowd around Longarm saying, "What did he do, Longarm? Call you a boy?"

Captain Walthers said, "Longarm, I hope you had a federal charge against that man. As the senior federal officer here..."

"Oh, don't tell us all you're dumb, Captain. Let us figure some things out for ourselves. Of course I had a charge. it's a federal offense to impersonate an elected official, which a sheriff is. The badge he had pinned on his vest says 'Sherriff,' but it don't say what county, Clay or otherwise. Man can pick a toy badge up in most any p.a.w.nshop. He's got nothing with a name on it in his wallet. What's this?"

Longarm unfolded a sheet of stiff paper he'd taken from the dead man's breast pocket and spread it on Weed's chest. Kim Stover gasped and said, "Oh, dear, it's got blood on it."

"Yes ma'am. Bullet went through it. It's a telegram, federal flyer sent to every law office worth mention a week or more ago. This particular one's addressed to the Territory of New Mexico, Santa Fe. Likely where this feller stole it."

Walthers bl.u.s.tered, "d.a.m.n it, man, what does it say?"

"What we all know. That Cotton Younger's been picked up as a cow thief, here in Crooked Lance."

"But if he intercepted it in Santa Fe... what do you make of Weed, a bounty hunter?"

"That's a likely guess. Since Lew Wallace cleaned up New Mexico the territory's filled with unemployed guns. From the way he spoke at the breakfast table, I'd say he rode with one side or the other in the Lincoln County War and has been looking for a new job. He heard about the folks here holding Cotton Younger, heard about the herd of rewards it might lead to, and was playing Foxy Grandpa. He did make you the best offer for your prisoner, didn't he, Miss Kim?"

The redhead grimaced, not looking at the body, as she nodded and turned away. Longarm decided to push her further off balance by observing, brutally, "Yep, no telling how many bounty hunters we'll have riding up here before long. Might even have the James and Younger Gang paying us a visit, as word of your hospitality gets around. You folks might as well know, one of Cotton Younger's old sidekicks has already come and gone.

Timberline blinked and said, "The h.e.l.l you say. Who was the varmint?"

The midget, Cedric, chortled, "The railroad d.i.c.k. I knew it!"

Longarm shook his head and continued searching the corpse. "Nope. He's taking Sailor Brown in for me. The Mountie, here, gets credit for unmasking him. He was that oldtimer pretending to be a Canuck."

Timberline asked, "Who shot him, you or the feller Working for the railroad?"

"Don't know who shot him. I suspicion it was the same one that shot Deputy Kincaid, the man from my outfit who never got here. Kincaid was from Missouri, so he might have known members of the James-Younger Gang on sight. I suspicion that's why he was kept from getting here. Though, now that I think on it, MY own reception in Bitter Creek wasn't all that friendly."

Timberline said, "Hot d.a.m.n! I see it all, now! This feller you just gunned down was pretending to be a Missouri Sheriff! Don't that mean..."

"Slow down. It don't mean more than another cud to chew, Timberline. Weed, here, couldn't have shot the old man. Anybody could have done whatever to my partner, Kincaid. This situation's getting more wheels within wheels than an eight-day clock."

He found a pocket watch with an inscription and read, "'To Alexander McSween on his fifth wedding anniversary.' Looks like real silver, too."

"You reckon that was the jasper's real name, Longarm?"

"Not hardly. Alexander McSween was on the losing side of the Lincoln County War. They gunned him down with his wife watching, a couple of summers ago. I'd say this bounty hunter was one of them that did the gunning. No wonder he was so interested in Kid Antrim. The Kid rode for McSween. He made a bad slip by calling Billy the Kid Antrim instead of Bonney. n.o.body aside from a few federal officers knows that name, outside Lincoln County."

Kim Stover's face was pale as she asked, "Do you think there's a chance Billy the Kid could be headed this way, Mister Long?"

Longarm considered nodding, but thought honesty was perhaps the best policy when a lie might sound foolish. He shook his head and said, "Doubt it. Kid Antrim's likely in Mexico, if he's got a lick of sense. He's a gunslick, not a bounty hunter. No way a wanted man could collect a reward. Unless, like this jasper, he figured to dress up like a lawman."

He saw her relieved look and quickly shot it down by repeating, "All we have to worry about is Frank and Jesse James and company."

Someone asked about the disposal of the remains and Stover quickly said, "I'll bury him right decent for ten dollars. I figure there's at least ten dollars on him ain't there, Deputy Long?"

Longarm made a wry face and got to his feet, brus.h.i.+ng off his knee as he said, "You'll likely want two bits from him for breakfast, too."

Stover nodded, pleased to see the big lawman was so agreeable, and oblivious of the disgusted looks others were casting his way.

Longarm said, "I'd best see if he had anything in his room," and walked to the doorway, leaving the others to work out the funeral details as they saw fit. He saw that the Mountie was right behind him, but didn't comment on it until the two of them were alone in the dead man's room. As Longarm spread the contents of "Weed's" saddle bags on the bed, the Mountie said, "That was smoothly done, Longarm."

"Oh, it only made sense to have the drop on him before I told him he was under arrest."

"Come now, I've made a few arrests myself. You know you could have taken him alive."

"You don't say?"

"I do say. You tricked him into slapping leather because you had no intention of having to take him in, without the man you came for."

"I heard you Mounties were tolerable good. You likely know this job calls for considering things from all sides before you move. It didn't pleasure me to trick that fool out there into making things simple, but I couldn't leave him running loose."

"I know what you did and why you did it. I know you got rid of the railroad detective rather neatly, too. I think it's time we got something straight between us, Longarm."

"I'm listening."

"My organization's not as old as your Texas Rangers, but we operate in much the same way."

"I know. You always get your man. I read that somewhere. Don't you reckon that's a mite boastful?"

"No, I don't. I have every intention of taking that prisoner, Cotton Younger, before Her Majesty's Bar of Justice, and I'll kill anyone who tries to stop me!"

"You talking about me or them vigilantes all around outside?"

"Both. I've had just about enough of their nonsense and I'm not too happy about the way you've been trying to whittle your opposition down to size. I warn you, if you make any attempt to run me out..."

"Hey, look here, he's got a copy of this month's Capon Billy's Whiz-Bang. It's pretty humorous. You oughta read it sometime. Do wonders for your disposition. n.o.body's aiming to run you out, old son. I didn't run the old man or the railroad d.i.c.k out of Crooked Lance, and I shot that other feller fair and square. What's eating you? You are a real Mountie, ain't you?"

"You want to see my credentials?"

"Nope. My boss told me to expect a Mountie here, and I doubt anyone else would want to wear that red coat." Longarm's eyes narrowed, thoughtfully.

The Mountie asked, "What's wrong? You look like you just thought of something new."

"I did. I'm starting to feel better about that feller I just shot. There was somebody from the Clay County Sheriff's office coming out here. That bounty hunter must have waylaid him! Somewhere in the mountains there's at least two lawmen buried!"

The Mountie put a hand in his tunic and took out a leather billfold, saying, "I insist you read my Sergeant's Warrant. You'll note it gives my description in addition to my name."

Longarm scanned it and said, "You're likely Sergeant Foster, right enough."

"William DeVerrier Foster of the Royal Canadian Northwest Mounted Police, to be exact. May I see your identification?"

Longarm grinned and took out his own billfold, showing his badge and his official papers to the other. The Mountie nodded and asked, "Have you checked Captain Walthers' credentials?"

"Didn't have to. I asked him a few trick questions since we met. Besides, who but an army man would be after a deserter? You got a point. Maybe you do get your man, most times."

"Do I have your a.s.surance you'll not try to get rid of me as you did the others?"

Longarm nodded and said, "You got my word I won't shoot you or try to buy you off with reward money."

He'd already decided there had to be some other way.

CHAPTER 12.

Longarm didn't ask Captain Walthers to show his i.d. He knew the Mountie would, and it was just as well they didn't get to be friends.

By noon the dead man had been buried, amid considerable whooping and shooting off of cowpoke's guns. One could get the impression that folks in Crooked Lance didn't get many occasions for a celebration. Longarm didn't attend the funeral. He was not a friend of the deceased and it seemed an opportunity to have a word with the prisoner.

It wasn't. A pair of hard-looking men with rifles stood by the log jail and when Longarm said he wanted to talk to Cotton Younger they told him it would be over their dead bodies. He considered this for a moment, and decided it wasn't his best move.

As he walked over to the general store the midget, Cedric, fell in step at his side, taking three strides to each of Longarm's as he puffed his big cigar and piped, "We're gonna have to make our play d.a.m.ned sudden, Longarm. Cotton Younger don't figure to keep much longer."

"How'd it get to be our play, and what are you talking about, Cedric?"

"There's advantages to being a detective knee-high-to-a-gra.s.shopper, big man. Us little fellers can get into places most folks don't consider."

"You been listening to folks from under your wet rock?"

"That's close enough. Want to know what the talk in town is, now?"

"Maybe. What's making you so friendly, all of a sudden?"

"I don't like you, either. Never have liked you, even before you had your way with my woman, but I don't play this game for likes or don't likes. I'm in it for cash. You want to trade more insults, or do we work together?"

"Depends on what we're talking about, Cedric. Suppose you start with something I don't know."

"They're fixing to lynch Cotton Younger."

"What? That don't make a lick of sense, d.a.m.n it!"

"You met anybody in this one-horse town with a degree from Harvard yet? I overheard some of Timberline's hands talking about a necktie party. You see, the redhead, Kim Stover, is the brains behind the scheme to build up Crooked Lance with the proceeds of... whatever. When I say 'brains,' I ain't saying much, for as me and Mabel see it, the game is as good as up. Ain't n.o.body here in town fixing to get paid a thing but trouble."

"That's what we've all been telling'em."

"I know, and everyone but that stubborn widow woman can see it."

"Then why don't Timberline turn the prisoner over and have done with the mess?"

"He can't. He's in love with the redhead and she'd never speak to him again if he double-crossed her like that."

"All right, so how else does he figure to double-cross her?"

"Like I just told you, with a sudden necktie party! He won't be taking part in it, of course. His plan is to be over at the redhead's, trying to steal a kiss or better, when all of a sudden, out of the night..."

"I got you. 'Some of the boys got drunk and riled up about that running iron, Miss Kim, and I'm pure sorry as all h.e.l.l about the way his neck got all stretched out Of shape like that.'"

"That's one thing they're considering. Another is having him get shot trying to escape. Either way, it figures to happen soon."

"They say anything about me and the other lawmen?"

"Sure. They don't figure three big men and a dwarf can stop 'em. I reckon you're the one they're calling a dwarf. Timberline told 'em not to shoot none of us, 'less we try to stop the fun."

Longarm stopped at the store front and leaned against a post as the midget put a tiny boot up on the planks to wait for his next words.

Longarm mused, half-aloud, "The Mountie would fight for sure and go down shooting. Walthers might try, and get hurt..."

"You and me know better, right?"

"Against at least fifty armed drunks? You're sure you got it right, though? Timberline's got the odds right, but there ain't much that can be said about his thinking. h.e.l.l, he doesn't have to kill the prisoner. They could just let him go with an hour's head start and you, me, the others would be hightailing it out of the valley after him. They'd never see any of us again and Timberline could go back to courting his widow woman. Maybe consoling her on their mutual misfortune."

"I never said he was bright. I only told you what he planned."

"You reckon he might see it, if it was pointed out to him?"

"He might. Then again, knowing his play was uncovered, he might make his move more sudden. There's over fifty men in and around town this very moment."

"I get the picture. When were they planning to murder the poor jasper?"

"Late tonight. The redhead's gone home in a huff, saying the way everybody's drinking and carrying on over the funeral is disgusting, which I'll allow it is. Timberline figures to ride over to her spread, maybe playing his guitar or something as stupid, just so he's not there when they string the boy up. Later, of course, n.o.body will remember just who done the stringing, the rest of us will likely ride off and..."

"All right, what's your plan, Cedric?"