“No, I know you’ll do right by me. By the time you get that bronc roped and steadied I’ll have time to fetch my saddle, walk to town, get a drink, and walk back.”
He knew he was only half jesting, so he strolled back up the line to the buckboard, removing his Winchester and possibles from the saddle in the wagon bed with slow deliberation. He knew that while they might even try to kill him, they wouldn’t steal his gear, so he left it in the buckboard.
As he turned with the McClellan braced on one hip, he saw that the civilian scout, Jason, had followed him part of the way up the company street. Jason was almost as tall as Longarm and a bit older. There were a few gray hairs among the greasy thatch on his head and in his spade-shaped beard, and his suntanned face was creased with friendly laugh-wrinkles. Jason fell in at Longarm’s side as they walked back to the corral, saying, “They treated me the same way when I was first posted here, mister. I ain’t generally a tattletale, but I reckon they’ve gone overboard with old Rocket.”
“Bad bronc, huh?”
“No. Rocket’s a killer. I can see you know which end of the horse the bit goes in, but if I was you I’d pass on Rocket. It’s not like it was a shameful thing to do. There ain’t a man in this outfit who is ashamed when it comes to old Rocket.”
“I thank you for the warning, Jason. If I live, you can call me Longarm.”
“Where do I send your possibles after the fool horse throws you and stomps on your head?”
Longarm didn’t answer. He saw that the soldiers had roped and blindfolded a big gray gelding and led him into an empty corral next to the remuda. As the others held Rocket, Longarm threw his saddle over the broad back and cinched it, asking, “Ain’t most of these grays assigned to army bands?”
The stable boss grinned and said, “Yeah, old Rocket was a mite, uh, spirited for parades. So they sent him out here to fight Indians. You ain’t scared of spirited horses, are you, lawman?”
“Let’s get it over with,” said Longarm, getting the bridle on over the blindfold after punching Rocket in the nose to make him open his mouth for the bit.
He put a foot in the stirrup and hoisted himself up into the saddle, ready for anything. But nothing happened. The big gray stood as placid as a plough horse while Longarm settled in the saddle and got a firm grip on the reins. He muttered, “One of that kind, huh?” Then, in a louder tone, he said, “All right, yank the blinds and give me room.”
The soldiers scattered as the stable boss pulled the bandanna blindfold out from under the bridle and joined his messmates on the surrounding rails. The big gray blinked at the sunlight, took two steps backwards toward the center of the corral, and tried to jump over the late-afternoon sun, as someone shouted, “Hot damn!”
Longarm yanked hard on the reins to force the gray’s head down and to one side as they came down. The Spanish bit he’d rigged his bridle with had been purchased with such emergencies in mind, and while he customarily rode with a gentle hand on the reins, he could hurt a horse with the bit if he had to, and right now he had to.
Rocket didn’t like it much. He was used to army bits as well as having his own way. With his head held down almost against Longarm’s left stirrup, he had to buck in a tight circle; any good rider can stay aboard a bucking horse as long as it bucks in a repeated pattern. Some of the soldiers might not have known this, so they were impressed as the big lawman rode easily, swaying in tune with the mindless anger of the killer bronc.
Then Rocket saw he wasn’t getting anywhere bucking in a circle, so he danced sideways and threw his full weight against the corral rails. He had intended his rider’s right leg to take most of the shock, but Longarm saw it coming, kicked free of the right stirrup, and got his leg up in time. The big gray followed up his knee-breaking attempt with the purpose of which was to throw a sideways crabbing Longarm before he could get his leg back down in place. Longarm expected that, too, so it didn’t work.
The big gray fought to raise his head, trying to get the cruel bit between his teeth. Then, when he saw that the enemy tormenting him had the bit well-set, he decided, as long as his muzzle was down by the man’s left foot, that he might as well bite it off.
Longarm snatched his toe back as the big yellow teeth snapped at it, then he kicked the gray’s muzzle, hard. Rocket tried a couple more times before he gave up on that one, his nostrils running blood.
They circled the corral a few more times, spinning like a top, but the gray was tiring, and like any bully, Rocket didn’t like to get hurt; Longarm was the meanest critter he’d ever been ridden by.
“You got him, mister!” someone shouted. “Just stay on a few more minutes and that old bastard will be your asshole buddy!”
Longarm shouted, “I don’t want to marry up with him, I want to work with him!”
He steadied the gray as he stopped bucking, rode him once around the corral at a weary trot, and reined in by the rails, climbing quickly off and perching by the boss wrangler, maintaining his hold on the reins. Rocket saw an opportunity and pulled suddenly back to unseat him, but Longarm leaned back and gave the Spanish bit a vicious yank, drawing more blood. After that, Rocket stood very still indeed as Longarm said, “That was sure interesting. Now, I’d like to pick out a gelding fifteen hands high and if you give me another bronc I’ll kill you, personal.”
“You made your point when you stayed aboard old Rocket, mister. We was just having a little friendly fun. I’ll issue you Betsy. She’s a good steady mare.”
“No you won’t. I said I’d pick a gelding. I reckon I earned it, don’t you?”
The wrangler noted the chilly look in Longarm’s eyes and nodded soberly. “Yep, I’d say it’s time to quit while I’m ahead.”
Chapter 4
Longarm got back to the Indian agency near sundown, riding a tall chestnut and leading the mule and buckboard.
Calvin Durler came out to help as he unhitched and unsaddled in the agency corral. Durler said, “Nan’s got a room fixed up for you and we have Real Bear in the root cellar, wrapped in a wagon tarp. Nan didn’t like it much, but what the hell, we haven’t harvested enough to mention, so the cellar’s mostly empty and I put her preserves on the other side.”
Longarm nodded. “I’ll run the body into town come sunup. The army post has no surgeon but they tell me there’s a county coroner in Switchback. You do have a telegraph line here, don’t you?”
