“Whether I’m ready to go or not?”
“Whether you’re ready to go or not. Makes me no damn difference. I’m the sheriff here—you’ll do what I tell you. NOW get out of here.”
At Longarm’s feet, the big man groaned and moved around. Longarm glanced down. A trickle of blood was running down the thick neck from where the gun barrel had cut him at the base of his skull. Longarm looked over at the younger man who had the same features and the same blond hair—hair so blond that it was almost white. The younger man had dropped the barrel of the shotgun but his eyes were still aimed at Longarm. Longarm glanced around the room. Everyone was staring at him.
He said to the sheriff, “Just who the hell are these two gents that they would rate the law taking a position over another private citizen? I ain’t done a damn thing except play a better poker game than that idiot on the floor.”
The sheriff’s face flushed. “Never you mind who they are or who anybody else is for that matter. Just get your damn money and get the hell out of here. My job is to keep trouble from starting and to stop it once it gets started and I don’t want any more. Do I got to tell you again?”
With casual movements, Longarm stepped to the table and scooped his money up, stuffing it into his pocket. Then he glanced down at the big man named Billy Bob or Big Billy and gave him one last look. He started toward the man with the shotgun. As he shouldered his way between him and the sheriff, he said to the younger man, “Listen, sonny. I ain’t real sure that you are old enough to be carting one of those things around. Ain’t there some law, Sheriff, about twelve-year-old boys carrying a shotgun?”
The sheriff said, “Hold it right there, Glenn. I’ll tend to this. Glenn, just put that shotgun down and step back. This man is leaving.”
He took Longarm by the shoulders and gave him a nudge toward the front of the saloon. “On your way, mister.”
Longarm shrugged the sheriff’s hands off. He walked a few steps and then turned around and looked the room over slowly. Finally he smiled slightly, turned, and walked toward the door, making a sardonic wave over his shoulder. As he stepped through the bat-winged doors, he could hear the noise begin to pick up again in the place. Outside on the street, he laughed. It had been a good beginning. If nothing else, he told himself, he had won nearly two hundred dollars. More money to flash around and act like a sport.
He wandered the streets for a quarter of an hour, then turned a corner and went into a saloon called the Square Deal, which he thought to himself was anything but. It was no way on a par with the Elite. It was more of a workingman’s drinking place. He was about to turn around and go back out when out of the corner of his eye, at the end of the bar, he saw the blue tunics of a couple of cavalry soldiers. He walked on in. There was one poker game going and he could tell at a glance that it was small change—nothing that he wanted a part of.
He took a place at the bar and ordered a drink, making a grimace as he tasted the raw whiskey. He slammed his glass down and said to the bartender, “Hell, you slopping pigs or giving drinking men whiskey? What is this stuff? Give me something decent.”
The barkeep looked startled. “Well, that’s good enough for most folks around here.”
Longarm slung a silver dollar on the bar and said, “Give me your best.”
The bartender shrugged and found another bottle. He took a fresh glass and poured Longarm another drink. Longarm took it down in one gulp, grimacing. He said, “Hell, that ain’t a hell of a lot better.”
He looked down to where the two cavalry men stood. Both were slick-sleeved privates. He said, “And not only ain’t the whiskey worth a damn in this joint, but you don’t seem to care who you let in here. You serve soldier boys in here—Yankee soldier boys? Next you’ll be letting Injuns in here to drink with the white men.” He flipped another silver dollar on the bar and turned on his heels and walked out.
Out on the street, he smiled again. He was well pleased with himself. He had managed to make a stir in two places. It was growing late—a little after ten—so he walked slowly back to his hotel. As he was crossing the lobby, he saw the young man, Todd, hurrying after him. Longarm continued on down the hall. Just as he reached his room, Todd came up.
Todd said excitedly, “Mr. Long, sir. I got to tell you something.”
“What is it, Todd?”
“Well, Mr. Long. I heard that you got into a … got into an upset with Billy Bob Castle and his brother Glenn.”
“Is that their name? Castle?”
“Yes, sir. Just like the one that had the horse that you were admiring this afternoon.”
“So what?”
“Well, sir. I just thought I better warn you. They ain’t the best folks to be getting crosswise with around here.”
Longarm put his key in the door.
The boy continued. “They’re kind of pretty important around here. They’re kind of the head stud horse. The whole bunch of them.”
Longarm gave the young man a look. He said, “Well, Todd. You pass the word that if they will stay clear of me, I’ll let them go on being stud horses around here, but they fool with me and I’ll geld them right quick.”
Todd stood there staring at him as Longarm went past the door, shutting it behind him. He walked through the parlor into his bedroom and sat down on his bed to have a good laugh. He uncorked a bottle of Maryland whiskey and swished it around his mouth to get rid of the taste of that last drink. He leaned back against the pillow and said, “Ahhh,” before taking out a cigarillo and lighting it.
He figured that he had done a pretty good day’s work in the little town in not quite half a day. He didn’t know who the Castles were—Billy Bob or Glenn—but they apparently were of such a size and vigor and prestige as to have made Todd impressed with his conflict with such a robust family.
All of it had left him no closer to finding who was killing the troopers. The remark he had made in the Square Deal Saloon about the place serving soldiers was possibly the most aggressive effort he had made that day,
