A million years went by.
Longarm shifted quietly to a more comfortable position, seated in the grass with his back against a rear wheel and the rifle across his bent knees as he chewed an unlit cheroot to pass the time and keep awake.
Another million years went by.
Somewhere in the night a coyote howled and once a train hooted far across the prairie. He muttered, “Must be a special. Stationmaster said the next train was due in six hours and that was two or three hours ago.”
Then he heard something.
He didn’t know what it was, or where it was coming from, but he suddenly knew he wasn’t alone on the lonely prairie. He realized he’d stopped breathing and inhaled slowly through his nose, straining his ears in the dead silence all around.
A big gray cat was walking around in Longarm’s gut for some fool reason; he told himself he didn’t believe in ghosts. Nobody sensible believed in ghosts, but then, nobody sensible was sitting out here in the middle of nothing-much after making himself a target for whoever might be interested.
He heard the sound again, and this time he grinned as he identified it, muttering, “Man or devil, the son of a bitch is riding a pony!”
The sound he’d heard was someone dismounting, trying not to squeak saddle leather in the process, but not quite managing. Longarm had the sound located, more or less. Someone had reined in on the far side of the wagon ruts and climbed down for a more Apache-style approach than most found neighborly when coming in on a night fire.
Longarm rolled forward, shoving the Winchester into position for a prone shot as he stared into the inky blackness and listened for a footstep. Once he heard what might have been the distant ting of a spur on dry grass, but it was hard to tell. Whoever it was, was moving in like a cat. Longarm studied the stars along the skyline, and after a while, one winked off and on. He knew where the other was, now, but it was too far to do anything about. Another star went out and stayed that way. The jasper was standing there, likely studying the fire and what he could see of the bedroll. If he had a lick of sense he’d move a mite closer in. He was way too far out for a decent shot.
Then a distant female voice called out, “Longarm! Look out!” and a rifle flashed orange in the darkness near the vanished star. Longarm fired at the flash and rolled away from his own gun’s betraying flame as, much farther off, a third gun fired, twice.
He heard the sound of metal on dry grass, followed by a groan and a thud. Longarm was under the tailgate now, so he rolled over once more and sprang to his feet, his Winchester at the ready.
The feminine voice called out again, closer, and Longarm heard the sound of running boot heels and jingling spurs as Roping Sally shouted, “Are you all right, Longarm?”
“Stay back, God damn it! I can’t see a damn thing and I only shoot at one thing at a time!”
“I got him outlined against your fire and he’s down! I’m coming in!”
Longarm circled wide. Then, as he got well clear of his night fire, he too could make out the inkblot on the grass. Another shadow stepped over it and kicked it, muttering, “There you go, you mother-loving, bushwhacking son of a bitch!”
As Longarm moved in cautiously, Roping Sally turned to the sound of his footsteps and said in a girlish tone, “He’s dead as a turd in a milk bucket, old son! Who got him, you or me?”
“Maybe both of us put one in him, Sally. What in thunder are you up to out here?”
“I saw you come out of the saloon and ride off. Then I spied this jasper running for his pony like he aimed to go somewhere serious, so I sort of tagged along after him. I had him betwixt your fire and me when he dismounted, sneaky-like. So I did the same and, oh, Lordy, I thought you were in that fool bedroll!”
“So did he, most likely. Let’s see who he used to be.”
As Longarm knelt and turned the dead man over in the fitful glow, Sally said, “Hot damn! I might have known you were setting a trap for the bastard! Who was he, and how’d you know he aimed to follow you?”
Longarm muttered, “Shit—sorry, ma’am. His handle was Fats. I threw him off a train in the Denver yards and he said he’d remember me. I guess he did. As to knowing he was likely to follow me, I was aiming higher. You see his rifle hereabouts?”
“Over there to the southeast. Looks like an express rifle to me.”
“Me too. He was the one who took a shot at me in town the other day, damn it! Poor silly varmint tracked me all the way up here just because I made him look foolish one time. He had a younger sidekick, too.”
“He followed you alone, Longarm. You reckon his pal is in Switchback?”
“Hope not. I’ve got enough on my plate up here. You hear mention of a new hand in the country called Curley?”
“Nope. There’s a Curley riding for the Double Z, east of town, but he’s been here for at least two years.”
“Damn! I can’t chance not watching for one more old boy with a poor sense of humor and I can’t waste time hunting him down. I’ve got bigger fish by far to fry!”
“Tell me what the bastard looks like and me and my friends’ll be proud to round him up for you,” Sally offered.
“Can’t do that, Roping Sally. No telling how many innocent drifters might get hurt if I turned you loose with a private posse!”
“Well, can I tell you if I see or hear tell of folks named Curley?”
“Sure, Sally. But just don’t get excited before you talk to me about it, hear?” Longarm cautioned.
“I’ll be sly as hell. What are we to do with this rascal here?”
