since it beat taking in washing, she started pleasuring men for pay. She must have been good at it, for the next thing anybody knew, she had the biggest fancy house in Denver. I reckon she was trying to get as far from the preaching trade as possible. But like I said, it was all a mix-up. Her husband hadn’t done her wrong at all.”
Prudence’s eyebrows knit in confusion. “Indeed? But you said he ran off with this redhead!”
Longarm nodded. “That’s what everybody thought. But a few years later someone found the redhead working in a house in Abilene, alone. Then, a short while later, some prospectors found the skeleton of a man down an abandoned mine shaft. Nobody ever figured out if he’d been robbed and thrown down it, or if he’d just fallen in, wandering about in search of souls to save.”
“My Lord! You mean it was the woman’s missing husband?”
“Yep. There were some shreds of clothing clinging to the bones and he was still packing the Bible Madam Lamont had given him with a sentimental inscription on the flyleaf. When they brought it to her, she went a mite crazy.”
The girl gasped, and her hands flew up to press on either side of her face. “Oh, what a terrible story! To think that poor girl abandoned herself to a life of sin because of a ghastly mistake about an innocent man!”
Longarm reached out and patted Prudence’s arm. “Well, it came out all right in the end. Madam Lamont ain’t in that line of work anymore, but while she was, she got as rich as Croesus. So she lives in a big brownstone house on Sherman Avenue with her new husband, these days. He’s rich, too, as well as understanding. They’re both right happy and the Madam still helps fallen women, orphans, and such. In her own way, she’s likely done more good than she ever could have as the wife of a poor wandering preacher.”
Prudence Lee tried not to smile as she said, “The moral of your tale is a bit grotesque, but I think I see it. Are you suggesting I’d do more for these Blackfoot by opening a parlor house on this reservation?”
“Not hardly. They’ve already got a mess of gals and a saloon. Old Snake Killer’s cooking sour mash over at his place, judging by the smell. Don’t tell Cal Durler, though. He frets about ‘em drinking.”
“Oh? And you approve of drunken Indians?” Prudence asked with a frown.
“Don’t approve of drunken anybody. But they’re less likely to get poisoned on their own home-brewed corn than they are on trade whiskey. Saves ‘em money, too. You see, some men are going to drink, federal regulations or no. I figure it’s better if they stick to cheap, pure bootleg, and confine it to the reservation.”
“I won’t tell on them, but I must say your ideas on law and order are rather cynical,” the missionary observed.
“I’m a peace officer, ma’am. My job is keeping the peace, not pestering folks about what they do in the privacy of their own homes. Trouble with nitpicking over laws is that those fools in Congress write so many of ‘em. When you get right down to it, everybody could be arrested if we enforced every law ever written. Lucky for us all, few lawmen have enough time keep their eyes to keyholes.”
Prudence laughed. “I’ll remember that the next time my secret lover comes to call on me with his wicked leer and French post cards.” Her face reddened fetchingly at her daring little joke. She paused, gazing down into her coffee cup. When she had regained her sobriety, she looked up and continued, “Meanwhile, I have a Bible class to teach. How soon do you think it will be safe for people to move about out here again?”
“Don’t know. I’m leaving in a few minutes for Rabbit Gulch. That’s a water stop, up the railroad line to the west. If I start this afternoon I should make it to the foothills in plenty of time.”
“You’re riding off the reservation in the other direction? What do you expect to find in Rabbit Gulch?”
“I’m not sure. But all I’ve found in Switchback is a lot of dead ends.”
“Heavens! Do you think it’s possible the Wendigo has been working out of another town we’ve never thought of?”
“Anything’s possible, ma’am. And as you see, I have thought of it.”
Chapter 14
The eastbound train of empty flat cars left Rabbit Gulch late. Nobody working for the railroad seemed to care when or where it arrived, as long as it didn’t get in the way of paying traffic.
The moon had worked its way clear across the sky and was shining down, now, from the west. The rolling sea of buffalo-grass all around was ash-gray, with occasional pitch-black clumps of soapweed here and there. Anything darker than the dry grass in the moonlight would be visible, if it was big enough and moving.
Longarm rode hunkered down in the shadow of the box cars behind the locomotive, facing backward with a string of six flat cars between him and the caboose. His chestnut was in one of the empty reefers. The brakemen m the caboose had been told not to come forward across the flats until it was time to crank the brake wheels, just west of the grade into Switchback. Longarm hoped his orders would be obeyed. Anybody he spotted on the rocking planks back there was in trouble.
The train passed through a railroad cut and Longarm tensed as the flats he was watching were plunged into darkness by the shadow of the banks. Then he saw that he was still alone out here in the middle of the night. He was going to feel foolish as hell if he’d ridden all that way for nothing. Worse yet, he knew he only had one chance with this plan. He’d boarded the train in Rabbit Gulch at the last possible moment, but once they reached Switchback, one of the crew was bound to blab about the lawman’s sudden interest in railroading. He’d known enough about human nature not to bother telling them to keep this ride a secret. He had to assume the secret would be out, after tonight, whether it was or not.
They ran through another cut, with no results. That didn’t mean much. The son of a bitch he was laying for had nearly fifty miles of leeway out here. Besides, if he’d jumped off the westbound a couple of hours earlier, he’d have found nobody outdoors to play with, and not having any real reason to cover his tracks tonight, might not even be waiting for this train. A footprint here and another sign there wouldn’t mean a thing in court, unless there was a victim found nearby.
“If I was him,” Longarm muttered, “I’d walk back along the tracks as soon as I discovered the Indians were all holed up for the night. I’d suspicion someone was on to me and want to haul ass out. On the other hand, I’d have quit after Roping Sally’s murder had the whole territory stirred up and looking for me, too.”
He spotted something loping along beside the train to the north and stiffened. Then he saw it was only a coyote pup, having fun, and after a while the animal dropped back out of sight. The train was doing about twenty on the open stretches, a bit slower up the grades. A coyote or a horse could run alongside easily enough for a
