“But you don’t seem to hate Indians at all.”
He tried to ignore the warmth of her thigh against his as he looked away and suggested, “I’ve been lucky about Indians. They never tried to do more than lift my hair. I mean, they never killed a woman or kid of mine. I was over at Spirit Lake just after the Sioux first rose under Little Crow and it was mighty ugly, but none of the dead white folks were my kin. I’ve left some squaws keening over their own dead in my time, so I can afford to forgive and forget. But it was right ugly out here until recently. The soldiers and other whites have done some terrible things, too, and not every Indian is the noble savage some have written about. Ugly feeds on ugly, and like I said, it wasn’t all that long ago. We have to give both sides a mite more time to get used to having one another as neighbors.”
Nan’s hand was suddenly on Longarm’s knee as she said, “You think Calvin is a fool, don’t you?”
“I never said such a thing, ma’am!”
“You didn’t have to. I’ve seen the mockery in your eyes. To you he’s just a green kid, isn’t he?”
Longarm got to his feet, not knowing how else to get her hand off his knee, as he said, “Getting sort of chilly, ain’t it?”
She remained seated, looking up at him oddly as she asked, “Are you afraid to answer me?”
Longarm shook his head and said, “I thought I had, ma’am. You asked did I think your man was a fool and I said he wasn’t one. He’s younger than me and, has a few things to learn. But he’ll do.”
“For you, maybe. Where are you going? It’s early yet, and I’ll never get any sleep this night.”
“I’d be proud to sit out here and jaw some more,” he said as tactfully as he could, “but I’ve got to get some shut-eye, and like I said, there’s a chill in the air.”
“I noticed,” she said, looking suddenly away.
He saw that she didn’t intend to go inside, so he said good-night and left her sitting there, nursing what ever was eating at her. He noticed that she didn’t answer, either. She surely seemed a moody little gal.
He went to his room and locked himself in from force of habit before sitting on the bed to pull off his boots. He frowned at the door for a time, then he said, “You’re getting a dirty mind, old son. You just leave that damned door locked, hear? Her man is just down the hall, and damn it, a gent has to draw the line some damned where!”
The town of Switchback, as its name indicated, was a railroad community where the trains added a second engine to negotiate a sudden scarp in the high plains before going over the mountains to the west.
Longarm left the dead Indian with the county coroner and walked across the rutted street to the land office, where he found a federal official named Chadwick in charge. Chadwick was about forty and looked like a superannuated buffalo hunter, except for his broadcloth suit. Longarm told the land agent his reasons for calling and Chadwick led him back to a lean-to shack behind his office, where he kept the telegraph setup.
A writing desk stood under a long shelf of wet cell batteries. A sending and receiving set shared the green desk blotter with paper pads and some leather-bound code books. Chadwick asked if Longarm knew how to send, and seeing that the lawman needed no further help, left him to his own devices.
Longarm got on the key, patched himself through to Denver Federal, and sent a terse message:
CHIEF REAL BEAR MURDERED STOP STILL LOOKING FOR FUGITIVE STOP INVESTIGATING BOTH CASES STOP SIGNED LONG DEPUTY U S MARSHAL DENVER
Then he left without waiting for a reply. If he gave Marshal Vail a chance to contact him, he’d probably be saddled with all sorts of foolish questions and instructions.
He accepted a cigar from the land agent, and as they shared a smoke, filled his fellow federal man in on what had happened. Chadwick shook his head and said, “I heard the medicine men are jawing about evil spirits again. You don’t think it means more Indian trouble, do you?”
“Don’t know what it means. While I’m here, I’d best ask you some questions about the situation. You have many cattle spreads hereabouts?”
“Of course. That’s what I’m doing here in Switchback. Since the rails came through and Captain Goodnight brought the longhorns north, Montana’s turned to cattle country. Ain’t that a bitch? Five, six years ago this was all buffalo and redskins!”
“I noticed the electric lamp over the railroad yards. Anyone wanting to claim more land would come to you, wouldn’t they?”
“Sure. Most of the good stuff’s been filed on, though. I guess you want to know how many offers I’ve gotten on the reservation, right?”
“I admire a man who thinks on his feet.”
“Knew what you suspicioned the minute you told me about the dead Indian. But you’re barking up the wrong tree. I’ve had requests to extend the open range west into the reservation, but everyone knows by now that my hands are tied. Land and B.I.A. are both under the Department of the Interior, but I can’t file claims on Indian-held land and neither can anyone else.”
“So there’d be no money in it for white folks hereabouts to trifle with the Blackfoot. How about revenge?”
“You mean some white man killing Indians just for the hell of it, like Liver-Eating Johnson? Maybe, if he was sort of crazy. This Indian you brought in was killed right on the reservation, right?”
“Next door to the agency.”
“There you go. You show me a white man who can creep to the center of a reservation, kill a chief, and creep back out without leaving sign, and I’ll show you a white man who can out-Indian an Indian! I was out here when the Blackfoot were still in business killing folks, and while I don’t like ‘em all that much, I’ll give ‘em the edge on skulking. You know what I suspicion? I suspicion that old Indian was killed by one of his own! I don’t know a white man in the territory who could have pulled it off the way you say it happened.”
“I’d say you’ve got a point,” Longarm agreed. “Most Indian-killers pick ‘em off along the edges of the reservation. I’ve got a warrant on a breed named Hunter or Hunts Alone. Any of the spreads hereabouts hire a breed hand, lately?”
