"That's easy. The stockmen have to keep in touch about the price of beef. They ship beef here at Bitter Creek, but they have to know when to herd it down out of the high country."

"Makes sense. Got any ideas on why that wire's down?"

"Ain't got idea one. Some fellers from Western Union rode out a few days ago to fix it. Next night it went out again. Likely high winds. This whole country's halfwaY to heaven, you know. Hardly a month goes by without at least some snow in the high parts hereabouts."

"Been having summer blizzards this year?"

"No, not real blizzards. But, as you'll likely see when YOu study yonder map, there's some rough country between here and Crooked Lance. Wire could get blowed out a dozen ways in as many stretches of the trail. The valley Crooked Lance sets in is lower and warmer, half the year. But it's sort of cut off when the weather turns ornery."

"Telegraph office open here in Bitter Creek?"

"Should be. Doubt you'll get through to Crooked Lance, though. Feller I know with Western Union says they've given up for now. Said they'd wait 'til the company decides on a full reconstruction job. Figures they're wasting money fixing a line strung on old poles through such wild country. Said they'd likely get around to it next year or so."

"I'll get Western Union's story. later. You know any names to go with the folks up in Crooked Lance?"

"Let's see, there's the Lazy K, the Rocking H, the Seven Bar Seven..."

"d.a.m.n it, I ain't going up there to talk to cows! Who in thunder owns them spreads up there?"

"Folks back east, mostly. The town's hardly there to mention, but the outfits are big whopping spreads, mostly owned by cattle syndicates from Chicago, Omaha, New York City, and such. I understand the Lazy K belongs to some fellers in Scotland. Ain't that a b.i.t.c.h?"

"I know about the cattle boom. Let's try it another way. You say they ship the beef from here. Don't somebody drive them herds to Bitter Creek?"

"Well, sure. Once, twice a year they run a consolidated herd over the pa.s.ses to our railroad yards. The buyers from the eastern meat packers bid on 'em as they're sorted and tallied in the yards. Easier to cut a herd amongst corrals and loading chutes, so..."

"I know how to tally cows, d.a.m.n it. Don't any of the Crooked Lance riders have names?"

"Reckon so. Most folks do. Only one springs to mind is the one they call Timberline. He's the tally boss. I disremember what the others are called. They mostly go by Billy, Jim, Tex and such."

"Tally boss is usually a pretty big man in the neighborhood, since the others have to elect him. You know this Timberline's last name?"

"Nope. But you're right about him being big. Old Timberline's nigh seven feet tall in his Justins. Seems to be a good-natured cuss, though. The others hoorah him about having snow on his peak, ask him how the weather is up yonder around his nose and stuff like that, but Timberline never gets testy."

"But he's in charge when the Crooked Lance hands are in town?"

"If anybody is, it's him. He's the ramrod of the Rocking H, now that I think on it. I think it was Rocking H hands who caught that cow thief of yours." He paused to think, then nodded, and added, "Yep, it's comin' back to me now. They found him holed up in the timber with a running iron on him. Dragged him into town for a necktie party, only some of the folks up there said it wasn't right to hang a stranger without a trial. From there on you know as much as myself."

Longarm saw that they were tracking over the same ground again, so he got to his feet and said, "I'll just have a look at your survey and be on my way, then."

He strode over to the large, yellowed map nailed to the wall and studied it until he found a dot lettered "Crooked Lance." It was nowhere near the locations given by the conflicting government surveys, but Longarm figured that the folks here in Bitter Creek had the best chance of being right. He ran a finger along the paper from Bitter Creek to Crooked Lance, noting forks in the trail and at least three mountain pa.s.ses he'd have to remember. Then he stepped back for an overall view. The sudden movement saved his life.

The window to his right exploded in a cloud of broken gla.s.s as what sounded like an angry hornet hummed through the s.p.a.ce he'd just occupied to slam into the far wall! As Longarm dropped to the floor, the deputy marshal rolled backwards, bentwood chair and all, and from where he lay on his back, shot out the overhead light as another bullet from outside buzzed in through the broken window. Meanwhile, Longarm had crabbed sideways across the floor to another window, gun in hand.

As he risked a cautious peek over the windowsill the other lawman crawled over to join him, whispering, "See anything?"

"Nope. Everyone outside's dove for cover. There's light in the saloon across the street, so they ain't in there. You move pretty good, Deputy."

"I've been shot at before. You reckon they're after you or me?"

"I'd say it's on me, this time. How do you feel about that narrow slit between the east end of the saloon and the blank wall over there?"

"That's where I'd be, if I was shooting at folks hereabouts. I'll scoot out the back way and circle in while you mind the store, savvy?"

Longarm considered it before he answered. He was the senior officer and it was his play. On the other hand the local lawman knew the lay of the land and it was pretty dark out there. Longarm said, "Go ahead. I'll try to make up something interesting to keep 'em looking this way."

As the deputy crawled away in the dark and Longarm heard the creak of an invisible door hinge, he moved to one side and gingerly raised the sash of the other, unbroken window. Nothing happened, so he risked another peek. Then he swore.

The street was filled with people now, and a burly figure with a tin star pinned to his chest was clumping right toward him, gun in hand, and shouting, "Hey, Morg! You all right in there, son?"

Longarm got to his feet and stood in a shaft of light from outside, holstering his own gun as the door burst open. What was obviously the missing deputy's superior officer froze, in the doorway, his gun pointed at Longarm, and asked, "You have a tale to tell me, Mister?"

"Deputy Morgan and me are friends, Marshal. He's out trying to get behind somebody who just busted your window. He should be back directly."

"I heard shots and come running. What's it all about?"

"Don't know. Them who did the shooting never said. By the way, your young sidekick's pretty good. He had the light out before they'd fired twice. Sounded like they was after us with a.30-30."

"Old Morg's good enough, I reckon. How'd you get so good at reading gunshots, Mister? I disremember who you said you was."

Longarm introduced himself and brought the town marshal up to date. By the time he'd finished, the marshal had put his gun away and Deputy Morgan had crossed the street to rejoin them.

Morgan nodded to his boss and said to Longarm, long gone, but you figured right about that alleyway. Way I read the signs, it was one feller with a rifle. Had on high-heel, maybe Mexican, boots."

The deputy held out a palm with two spent cartridges as he added, "Looks like he packs a bolt-action.30-30. Funny thing to use in a gun fight, ain't it?"

Longarm shrugged and said, "I'd say he was out for sniping, not fighting. The heel marks over there say much about the size and weight of anybody?"

"Wasn't anybody very big or very small. I'd say, aside from the fancy boots and deer rifle, most any hand for miles around could be made to fit. Dirt in the alleyway was packed hard. Feller in army boots like yours wouldn't have left any sign at all."

The older Bitter Creek lawman said, "Whoever it was has likely packed it in for now. The whole town's looking for him. Morg, you'd best start cleaning up this mess in here. I'll mosey around town and see if anybody spied the cuss. They'd remember a stranger in Mexican heels."

Longarm asked, "What if one of your local town men walked past in three-inch heels, maybe with a rifle in hand?"

"Don't think so. Folks don't take much notice of folks they know."

"I'd say you're right. How many men in town would you say could fit the bill?"

"h.e.l.l, at least a baker's dozen. Lots of riders wear Mexican heels and half the men in town own deer rifles. But I'll ask around, anyway. There's always a chance, ain't there?"

Longarm nodded, but he didn't think the chances were good. By now, if anyone in Bitter Creek had any suspicion of who'd shot out their own town marshal's window, they'd have come forward. Unless, of course, they knew, but didn't aim to say.

CHAPTER 4.

The clerk at the Western Union office gave Longarm much the same tale about the line to Crooked Lance as the deputy had. Longarm took advantage of the visit to wire a terse report to Marshal Vail in Denver. He brought his superior up to date and added that the big frog in the Crooked Lance puddle seemed to be a very tall rider called Timberline. It was the only information Vail might not have about the murky situation. They knew in Denver that Kincaid had gotten this far. At a nickel a word it was pointless to verify it.

Leaving the Western Union office, Longarm headed for the hotel the hard way. The sniper with the.30-30 could have been after the local law, but he doubted it. if someone was trying to keep him from getting to Crooked Lance, it meant they knew who he was. If they knew who he was, they might know he was staying at the hotel.

So Longarm followed the cinder path between the railroad tracks and the dark, deserted cattle pens until he was beyond the hotel entrance on Main Street. He found a dark side street aimed the right way and followed it, crossing Main Street beyond the last lamppost's feeble puddle of kerosene light. He explored his way to the alley he remembered as running through the hotel's block, then, gun drawn, moved along it to the hotel's rear entrance.

The alley door was unlocked. Longarm took a deep breath and opened it, stepping in swiftly and sliding his back along the wall to avoid being outlined against the feeble skyglow of the alley. He eased the door shut and moved along the pantryway to the foot of the stairs. Beyond, the shabby lobby was deserted, bathed in the flickering orange glow of a night lamp. The room clerk was likely in his quarters, since there'd be little point in tending the desk before the next train stopped a few blocks away.

Longarm climbed the stairs silently on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet and let himself into his rented room with the hotel key he'd insisted on holding on to. He struck a match with his thumbnail and lit the candle stub on the dressing table. There was no need to fret about the window shade. He'd chosen a side room facing the blank wall of the building next door and had pulled the shade before going out. But a man in his line of work had to consider everything, so he picked up the candlestick and placed it on the floor below the window. There was no chance, now, of its dim light casting his shadow on the shade, no matter how he moved about the room.

The room was tiny, even for a frontier hotel. The bed was one of those funny contraptions that folded up into the wall. Longarm opened the swinging doors and pulled the bed down, sitting on it to consider his next move.

His keen ears picked up the sound of voices from the head of the fold-down bed. The widow and little Cedric were in the next room and the part.i.tion between the folding beds was a single sheet of plywood. Be interesting, Longarm thought, to stay in this hotel when honeymooners were bedded down next door. The widow was talking low to her son, likely telling him a bedtime story. When one of them moved he could hear their bedsprings creak.

He remembered saying something about having a bite with the woman and her child. But it was later than he'd figured on and it didn't make much sense to take a lady to dinner with a rifleman skulking around out there. It sounded like they were in bed, anyway. He had the names of her Crooked Lance kin written down on an envelope she'd given him, so there was no sense pestering her further.

Longarm looked at his pocket watch. It was getting on toward nine o'clock. He put himself in the boots of the rifleman and studied hard. If the sniper still meant business, he'd be likely to wait around until... midnight? Yeah, midnight was a long, lonesome stretch and it would be cold as h.e.l.l out there by then, at this alt.i.tude. Sensible move for the sniper would be to hole up for a while and make another try at sunup. He'd told lots of folks he was riding out at dawn. The livery stable? It would make more sense for him to be waiting up the trail to Crooked Lance, where n.o.body in town would hear a gunshot. The sniper would want to be there first, so... yes, he knew what to do, now.

Longarm stood up and got undressed, spreading his clothes and belongings with care, to be ready to move out suddenly after a few hours of rest. He was down to nothing but his flannel shirt when someone rapped softly on his door.

Longarm hauled out his.44 and slid over to the doorway, standing well to one side as he asked, softly, "Who's there?"

"It's me, Mabel Hanks! I've been so worried! I heard there was a shooting, and..."

"n.o.body hurt, ma'am. I'm purely sorry we couldn't have dinner and all but having folks shooting at me goes with the job."

"May I come in for a moment?"

"Ma'am, I ain't decent. I just took off my britches."

She laughed softly and asked, coyly, "Not even a shimmy shirt? I can't sleep and, well..."

Longarm considered, then he decided, what the h.e.l.l, he'd told her, hadn't he, and unlocked the door.

Mabel Hanks slipped in and shut the door behind her, turning her eyes away from his long, naked legs as she murmured, "You must think me shameless." He did, since she'd let her long, brown hair down and was wearing a long pink cotton nightgown and fluffy bedroom slippers, but he said, "I'll snuff the candle so's we can talk without fl.u.s.ter. You must have something pretty important on your mind."

As he crossed the room to drop gingerly to one naked knee and pinch out the candle with his fingertips, he noticed that she'd taken a seat on the foot of his bed. it was getting pretty difficult to take this situation in any way but a pretty earthy one, but in country matters, as in all others, Longarm moved cautiously. There was always that one chance in a hundred that a gal was simply stupid about menfolks. She didn't look like a loose woman.

He stood over her in the almost total darkness, putting his gun away as he asked, "What's little Cedric up to at the moment, ma'am?"

"He's fast asleep, the poor darling. I'm afraid the long trip tired him."

"You ain't tired all that much, eh?"

"I'm afraid I'm not. It's difficult to fall asleep in a strange place ... alone." Then she blurted out, "Heavens, what am I saying? I didn't mean that the way it sounded!"

Longarm moved over to the door and locked it.

She gasped, "What are you doing, sir?"

"Just making sure we don't get shot. The key's in the lock, when you're ready to leave, ma'am."

"Oh, I thought..."

"What can I do for you, ma'am? You're purely beating about the bush like you thought a wounded grizzly was holed up in it."

"I've been thinking about your offer of... well, help. This is terribly embarra.s.sing, but I just counted out our remaining funds and, and, oh, Lord, this is all so sordid!"

Longarm fumbled for his pants and fished out a pair of ten-dollar eagles. He handed them to her in the dark, noticing how smooth her fingers were, as she suddenly took his hand in both of hers and pressed a cheek to it, sobbing, "Oh, bless you! I simply didn't know what we were going to do!"

"Heck, it ain't like I'm sending little Cedric through college, Ma'am. You can pay me back whenever you've a mind to. I don't reckon there's anything else you need, huh?"

Her voice was blushful in the dark as she said, "There is one thing more, but I just can't bring myself to ask this."

"You just ask away, Mabel. It pleasures most gents to be of service to a pretty gal."

"WelL you know I'm a recent widow and... this is just terribly embarra.s.sing, but my late husband used to help me out of my, um, corset."

"Oh? Didn't know you had one on. Not that I looked too close before. I snuffed the candle."

She got to her feet, her scented hair near Longarm's nostrils as she murmured, "I can't get at the laces without help. It's a new model with steel stays instead of whalebone and it's cutting me in two! Would you think me shameless if I asked you to unlace me from the back?"

"I could give it a try, but I ain't had much experience with such things. I've never worn one, myself." He hesitated, wondering why his mouth felt so dry as he added, "Uh, how do I git at it?"

Mabel Hanks slipped the nightgown off over her head and dropped it on the bed, saying, "Don't worry, I'm wearing a shift under the corset so it's not as if... isn't this silly? We've hardly met and here you are undressing me! Whatever must you be thinking?"

Longarm didn't think it would be polite to say, so he kept his mouth shut as he ran his suddenly too-thick fingers along her spine, feeling for the knot of her corset laces. He noticed that her breathing had become rapid and shallow. He found the slip and untied it. She reached behind herself to guide his wrists as he unlaced her. The tight corset suddenly snapped free and fell to the floor. She took a deep breath and gasped, "Oh, that feels so good!" A woman really needs a man if she intends to dress fashionably, don't you think?"

Longarm ran his hands up to her bare shoulders, turned her around, and hauled her in for a blindly aimed kiss. He missed her mouth on the first try, but she swung her moist lips to his, and for a long moment they just stood there, trying to melt into one another in the dark.

Then he picked her up and put her gently across the mattress, dropping himself alongside her as, still kissing, he ran his free hand down the front of her thin silk shift to the warm moisture between her trembling thighs. She tried to mutter something between their pressed-together lips as Longarm parted her knees with his own. And then he was in her, his bare feet on the rug and her hips almost hanging over the edge of the mattress as he drove hard and deep. She gasped and moved her face to one side, sobbing, "Whatever are you doing to me?" as her legs belied her protest by rising to lock firmly around the big man's bouncing b.u.t.tocks.

He came fast, stayed inside her, and moved them both farther onto the bed for a more comfortable second encounter, taking his time now, as their heaving flesh got better acquainted. She suddenly moaned and raked her nails along his back, almost tearing his shirt as she sobbed, "Oh, G.o.d! Oh, Jesus Christ! It's been so long!"

She'd dropped her expected modesty completely now and was responding like a she-cougar in heat, digging her nails in and raising her knees until her heels were crossed behind Longarm's neck. He was. .h.i.tting bottom with every stroke, and eased off a bit, aware that he could be hurting her, but she pumped hard to meet his thrusts and growled, "All of it! I want it all inside me! Oh, Jesus, it's coming again!"

He didn't know which of them she meant, but it didn't seem important as, this time, they had a long, shuddering mutual o.r.g.a.s.m and she suddenly went limp. Longarm knew he was heavy, so after lying there long enough to catch his breath, he shifted his weight to his elbows and eased off a trifle.

She sighed, "Don't move. Just let it soak inside me till we can do it some more. You're still nice and hard. My, there certainly is a lot of you, isn't there?"

"It's been a while for me, too, Mabel."

"I'm so happy, darling. I know you think I'm an absolute hussy, but I don't care. I don't care if you think this is what I had in mind all the time!"

"Didn't you?"

She hesitated, then answered roguishly, "You know d.a.m.ned well I did, dear heart. Women may not be supposed to want such things, but I was married for nearly eight years and, well, I don't care if you think I'm bawdy!"

"h.e.l.l, gal, what's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander. There's nothing to be ashamed of. We just done what's natural."