CHAPTER 21.

A band of mounted Indians brought in Mabel Hanks and the six riders from Crooked Lance who'd been with her when she tried to cut Longarm and his prisoner off at Bitter Creek. They'd given up there, and followed sign as far as the scene of Tinker's death before being jumped and captured by Longarm's Indian allies.

Mabel rode in dusty but trying to look elegant, sitting sidesaddle under her feathered hat, which the Indians admired immensely. Her little husband came over as Longarm helped Mabel dismount, stealing a feel of the holstered, man-sized S&W she wore around her corseted waist. Cedric Hanks said, "You shouldn't have let 'em take you, d.a.m.n it!"

"Oh, shut up! What were we supposed to do, make a stand in a dry canyon against all these Indians? What's going on hereabouts? It looks like you-all had a firefight where these jaspers surrounded us."

Cedric shrugged and said, "They surrounded us, too. This lawman's pretty slick, but he lost his prisoner. d.a.m.ned if I can figure what he wants with the rest of Us."

Mabel glanced at Longarm and asked, "Is that right? Did the prisoner get away after all the work we did?"

"Didn't get away, ma'am. He's on his way to Canada, dead. That Mountie rode off with the body."

"And you're still standing here? what's the matter with you? He can't be more'n a few miles off. Why ain't you chasing him?"

"Got bigger fish to fry. Besides, I've transported dead ones before. Gets tedious to smell after a day or so on the trail. I figure packing a rotting cadaver all the way to Canada is punishment enough for being more stubborn than smart. You and these boys hungry? The agent sent some husked dry corn over from the stores and the Indians will sell you jerked beef and coffee. For folks as aimed to track me and mine from h.e.l.l to breakfast, you didn't store much grub in your possibles."

"We thought you was making for Bitter Creek, like you said."

"I figured you might. Where's Captain Walthers? Following the tracks across the Great Salt Desert?"

"How should I know? The army man peeled off along the way. He rode off talking dark about a telegram to the War Department."

"That's good. Why don't you set a spell and make yourselves to home? I'll be over at the agency if you need anything. Anything important, that is. I don't split firewood and the Indians will show you where to get water, answer the call of nature, or whatever."

He walked away, leaving the newcomers to jaw about their position with those already gathered, worried and restless, around the campfire.

As he crunched across the gravel, Hanks fell in at his side, protesting, "Not so fast, d.a.m.n it. You got no right to hold Mabel and me. We ain't done nothing. h.e.l.l, the other night, I thought you and me was going to spring Cotton Younger together!"

"So did I, 'til I got a better grasp on the situation. You were right about Mabel being killed with me, but what the h.e.l.l, she had her reasons."

"I don't know what you're talking about. Did Cotton Younger say anything to you 'fore he pa.s.sed away? You must know it wasn't my idea to shoot him before he told us where the James Boys was hiding!"

"He died sort of sudden." Longarm lied.

"Jesus, didn't you get anything out of him? How come you let that Sergeant Foster steal him? Wasn't your orders to bring him in dead or alive?"

"Yep, but I just explained all that. They'll likely rawhide me some for losing the body, but not as hard as they would have for gunning a guest of the U.S. State Department, and Foster was a serious cuss. Besides, what can you really do to a dead owlhoot? He can't talk and hanging him without a fair trial seems a mite uncivilized. I reckon they could hold a trial, if the jury had clothespins on their noses and the judge didn't ask how he pleaded, but as you can see, it'd be a waste of time and the taxpayer's money."

"You're funning me, Longarm. I'll bet you got it out of him. I'll bet you know where Jesse James is hiding! I know you marshals from old. You wouldn't take that Mountie pulling the wool over your eyes unless you was on to something bigger than old Cotton Younger!"

"Well, you just go back to your woman and study on it. I've had my say about the missing cadaver and this conversation's over."

He left the bewildered little man standing there and continued to the mission. The sun had topped high noon and he found the Caldwell's and Kim Stover out back, seated in the shade behind the kitchen shed as the harsh, cloudless light made up for the cold night before by baking the dusty earth hot enough to fry eggs on.

Agent Caldwell started to ask more questions, but his wife, Portia, looked knowingly at Kim and said something about making the rounds of the village, adding something about sick Indian kids.

Caldwell muttered, "I don't remember any of the Utes being sick," but he let her lead him off after she'd tugged firmly on his sleeve a time or two.

Kim Stover smiled wanly and said, "She's quite the little matchmaker, ain't she?"

Longarm sat on the kitchen steps near her camp chair in the shade and said, "She's got a lot of time on her hands, out here with no other white women to talk to."

"She was advising me on the subject. I reckon we sort of told the stories of our lives to one another, between supper and breakfast. She doesn't think I ought to marry up with Timberline."

"I never advise on going to war or getting married, but the gal who gets Timberline ain't getting much in the way of gentle. He rides good, though. Must know his trade, to be working as ramrod for a big outfit. Maybe he's out to marry you for your cows."

"I know what he's after, and it ain't my cows. Ben and me didn't have much of a herd when he died. It's thanks to Timberline my herd's increased by a third since then. I know you don't like him, but he's been very kind, in his own rough way."

"Well, maybe he don't like my looks. How'd he add to the size of your herd? Not meaning to pry."

"He didn't steal them for me, if that's what you're getting at. Timberline's been honest and hard-working, for his own outfit and all the others in Crooked Lance. He's the trail boss and tally man when we drive the consolidated herd to market because the others respect him. More than once, when the buyers have tried to beat us down on the railside prices, Timberline warned us to hold firm. Working for an eastern syndicate, he always knew the going and fair price."

"That figures. His bosses back East would wire him the quotations on the Chicago Board. That's one of the things I've been meaning to get straight in my head, ma'am. You folks needed that telegraph wire. When did it first start giving you trouble?"

She thought and said, "Just after we caught that cow thief, Cotton Younger. We wired Cheyenne we had him and they wired back not to hang him but to hold him 'til somebody came to pick him up. Right after that the line went dead. Some men working for Western Union fixed it once, but it went out within the week. Timberline and some of the others rode up into the pa.s.ses to look at it. They said it looked like the whole line needed to be rebuilt."

"Were any of those other lawmen in Crooked Lance while the line was up that one time? More important, did any of them send a message from your father-inlaw's store?"

"I wouldn't know. I don't speak to him or to his two awful women. My ex-mother-in-law said bad things about me that weren't true. Her snippy daughter backed her."

"Do tell? What did they say against you?"

"Oh, the usual small-town gossip about a woman living alone. My sister-in-law's a poor old maid who likely doesn't know what grown folks do in the dark. Her mother can't know much better. All her man thinks about is money. You notice they only have one child, and she was born long enough ago to be getting long in the tooth now. Poor things are spiteful 'cause they never get no... you know."

"Ummm, well, they did seem sort of lonesome, now that you mention it. They gossiped about you and Timberline, huh?"

"Oh, that's to be expected, even though he's never trifled with me. What they suspicioned was even more vicious!"

"You mean they had more'n Timberline about your dooryard?"

"They as much as accused him of Ben's death. When he was killed in a stampede they pa.s.sed remarks about how Timberline had never liked Ben as much as he seemed to like me."

"That's a hard thing to say about a man. Anybody go along with it?"

"'Course not. You may as well know I took it serious enough to study on it, too. I questioned all the hands who were on the drive with my late husband. Talked to hands who weren't fond of Timberline as well as his own Rocking H riders. Them two old biddies should be ashamed of themselves!"

"Just what happened to your man, if you don't mind talking about it?"

"It was a pure accident, or, more rightly, Ben was a pure fool. They were driving in rough country when the herd was caught by a thunderstorm. A lightning flash spooked the herd and they started to stampede. My husband rode out wide to head 'em off and turn the leaders. Riding in fallen timber at a dead run. They say Timberline shouted a warning to him. Called him back and told him not to try, but to let 'em run, since the running was poor and there was a ridge ahead that would stop 'em."

"That sounds like common cow sense, ma'am. What happened then?"

"Ben's pony tripped over a log and went down. The herd ran over him and the pony, stomping both flat as pancakes. Later, my in-laws allowed it was Timberline's fault. They said he'd put Ben on the point, knowing it was dangerous."

"Well, somebody has to ride the point, though some trail bosses tend to pick unmarried men for it."

"Ben knew cows as well as anyone. n.o.body got him killed. He got himself killed trying to prove he was the best cowboy in the valley."

She looked away as she added, bitterly, "He had to prove he was good for something, I reckon."

Longarm sat silently, mulling over what she'd told him. He had to admit the boss bully of Crooked Lance hadn't done much more wrong than any other trail boss would have, and even if he'd had a hankering for another man's wife, Timberline didn't look like a man who could scare up thunder and lightning with a wave of his hat.

Longarm's groin tingled slightly as he mulled over her words about the Stover women. The one in his room had moved her tail from side to side like a fish. In the livery stable, had it been the same one? It was hard to tell. n.o.body does it the same way standing up. Had he laid the mother, the daughter, or both of 'em? And did he really want to know?

Kim Stover was asking, "When are you going to let us ride out? I asked the Caldwells, and while they're friendly enough, I couldn't get a straight answer from either one."

"That's 'cause they don't know, ma'am. They're likely as puzzled about it as yourself."

"Don't you know?"

"Well, sure. Ain't ready to say, just yet."

"Portia Caldwell said you were given to sly ways, but I think you've pa.s.sed sly and ridden into ridiculous! You've lost Cotton Younger. You know everything we do. What are you waiting for now?"

"The full cast a.s.sembled, ma'am. By now, Captain Walthers has intercepted the wires sent from here and will know where we are. He should be riding in directly, madder than a wet hen and likely leading a troop of cavalry."

"Good Lord! Are you waiting for the whole world to ride onto this reservation?"

"No, ma'am, just all my suspects. If you're getting bored, I'd be proud to take you for a ride in the hills or something."

"I'll pa.s.s on the something. Every time Timberline takes me for a ride we wind up wrestling."

"I don't wrestle with gals, ma'am. My offer was meant neighborly."

"I'll still pa.s.s on it. Timberline's enough to handle. You've got a very sneaky habit of saying one thing and meaning another!"

CHAPTER 22.

Captain Walthers rode in from the west late that afternoon. The Indians had not rounded him up. It would not have been a well-advised move, for the captain rode in full uniform at the head of two troops of U.S. Cavalry under fluttering red and white guidons.

Longarm was waiting for him on the front porch of the agency, along with Caldwell and some of the others, including Kim, the Hankses, and Timberline.

Captain Walthers rode directly up and stared down grimly without dismounting. "I have two questions and a squadron to back them up, Longarm. Where is my horse, and where is my prisoner?"

"Both dead. Your walker slipped and gutted himself on sharp shale, so I had to shoot him. My office will pay damages, of course."

"We'll settle that later. What's this about my prisoner, Cotton Younger, wanted for desertion in time of war?"

"The man I lit out with is dead and gone, whether you wanted him or not."

"What do you mean gone? Where's his G.o.dd.a.m.ned body? Sorry, ladies."

"He was killed by one of these vigilantes. I don't know which one. That Canadian peace officer, Foster, made off with the remains last night. He's likely got a good start on you by now."

"He stole a man wanted by the War Department? Which way did he ride out?"

"Headed for Canada, most likely. You'd be wasting your time trying to catch him, Captain. He's a h.e.l.l of a tracker and has a day or more of lead on you. I doubt I could find him myself, now."

"I'll see about that. I'm charging you with horse theft, Deputy."

"Why make more of a fool of yourself? I said we'd pay for the critter and my defense at any trial would be that I requisitioned the nearest mount at hand to save a man from a lynch mob. As a peace officer, I have the right to do such things as the need arises."

"Why didn't you ask me to help you, then?"

"You'd only have got in my way. As it was, I had a h.e.l.l of a time making it here before these others caught up."

The army man turned to the Indian agent and asked, "Aren't you the law, hereabouts?"

"I sure am, soldier."

"I demand you arrest that man for obstructing me in my duties!"

Caldwell's face was calm as he answered, "I demand you flap your wings and lay an egg, too, but I don't suppose you have to if you don't really want to."

"You don't intend to let a few past misunderstandings between the army and the Bureau of Indian Affairs obstruct justice, do you?"

"I sure do, soldier. Once upon a time, when I had some Navajo all set to ride back peaceable, some hotheaded second lieutenant charged in with his troop and... Never mind, some of our men have acted like idiots, too, in the past. Suffice to say, I don't reckon Your office and mine owe one another favors."

"I see. You intend to side with the Justice Department in this jurisdictional dispute."

"No, I intend to side with Longarm. He's a friend of mine. I never met you before."

Captain Walthers turned in his saddle to address a burly, middle-aged noncom, saying, "Sergeant! Arrest that man!"

The sergeant looked thoughtful and replied, "Begging the Captain's pardon, but we're on Indian land."

"G.o.d d.a.m.n it, Sergeant, are you afraid of Indians?"

"Ute Indians? Yessir, and Fort Douglas might just like to know our plans before the Captain starts an Indian war without their say-so."

"I am surrounded by maniacs!" the captain protested to anyone who wanted his opinion. Then he scowled down at Caldwell and demanded, "Would you sic your tame Utes on us if we just took this sa.s.sy deputy off with us?"

Caldwell shrugged and said, "I don't know how tame they might be if you tried to arrest their blood-brother, soldier. It's my duty to try and keep them off the warpath and if they got unruly, I'd have to chide them for... whatever. You'll notice I've told my wife to stay inside until this is settled. I've told these other folks to take cover, but n.o.body listens to me around here. Not even the Indians, when they get riled up about things."

The sergeant leaned toward the captain to murmur, "Sir, some Utes are covering us from those houses on our left flank. Just saw some movement off to the right..."

"d.a.m.n it, the War Department's going to get a full report on this entire matter!"