the federal pen in the Indian Nation had to be somebody close to the James gang, and might even be Jesse himself. Then, when Longarm had suggested that the Arkansas chief marshal had plenty of deputies who knew a lot more about the Nation than Longarm did, Vail had pulled rank and snapped, “Damn it, this is a case I’m putting you on, and I expect you to take it without any back-talk, just like any other case! Now, is that plain enough to suit you?”
“It couldn’t be much plainer, Billy,” Longarm had replied. “I still feel like it’s something for the locals to handle, but if you want me to go to the Nation, that’s where I’m heading.”
“Fine. It’s all settled, then,” Vail had said curtly.
And that was that, Longarm thought. Not like the way Billy’s been before, when I could talk things out with him friendly. But there’s something to this that he ain’t told me yet. I’ll just have to keep eating the old apple a bite at a time, and maybe I’ll find out what it is when I get down to the core.
He lay awake for a while after that, but the panther didn’t scream again. After a while, Longarm went to sleep.
Sunrise found Longarm and Maidia Harkness halfway to Webbers Falls. They’d ridden, for the most part, in silence. Maidia was still tired from the harrowing events of the day before; she hadn’t liked getting up in the dark and riding breakfastless except for a few bites of hard jerky. Longarm wasn’t too happy, either. He faced losing a half-day of travel time in order to keep his promise to Maidia. That meant he’d have to push hard to make it up in getting on to Fort Smith. There, he knew, the chief marshal had already been notified, by a telegram from Vail, to expect him.
If it wasn’t for that damn wire, he thought, looking at Maidia’s sleepy face as she bobbed along on the horse beside him, I’d be right tempted to turn around and go up to Choteau with her. Let the Arkansas deputies waste their time nosing around trying to get a smell of Jesse James’s trail.
Even while the thought was passing through his mind, Longarm knew he’d pull no such fool stunt. He’d never turned his back on his duty, and he wasn’t about to start now, no matter how much of a fool’s errand he figured an assignment to be.
Webbers Falls nestled on the west bank of the Arkansas, but a flat-bottomed ferryboat that plied between the two banks of the river got them safely across. On the ferry, Maidia asked Longarm, “What are you going to do about the mule and the two horses we seem to have acquired?
They don’t belong to US.”
“They didn’t, but it looks like they do now. Only not to us, Maidia. To you. You were the one paying the freight for the outlaws that ganged up on you. I’d say you’re entitled to keep them, as sort of compensation for what they put you through.”
“Would that be honest, Longarm?”
“I don’t see why not. If you’d found a silver dollar in the road and there wasn’t any way to prove it belonged to anybody, and you didn’t know who’d passed that way, wouldn’t you keep it?”
“Yes, I suppose I would.”
“all right, then. Keep the horses and the mule. If you don’t want them after you get where you’re going, sell them off, or trade them. If you’re real anxious to get shed of them, chances are I can fix up a swap with somebody in the town there to guide you where you’re going and take one of the critters for his pay.”
“You don’t think I ought to turn them in to the police, then?”
“What police? You might see an Indian policeman in Choteau, but chances are that’s the only law you’ll run into between here and there.”
“Go ahead and trade, then. It hadn’t occurred to me that I’m going to need a horse for myself. And I suppose the mule wouldn’t be much trouble to keep, in this kind of country.”
“Not if you’re going to be working at an Indian school, it wouldn’t. Well, we’ll have to see what I can dicker out for you when we get ashore. But I don’t suspicion there’ll be much trouble.”
Longarm’s prediction turned out to be correct. Webbers Falls didn’t offer much except a general store and a small sawmill powered by a waterwheel; the rest of the town consisted of a couple of dozen houses, mostly those of the families of men working at the sawmill. Longarm showed his badge to the proprietor of the store and described the kind of man he was looking for, and the job that needed to be done. The proprietor scratched his head for a moment.
“Guess Jared Phillips is the man you better talk to before you try anybody else. Jared traps up and down the rivers, so he’d know the land and the trails. And he’s old enough so you wouldn’t need to worry about him being flighty.”
Jared Phillips wasn’t just old, Longarm discovered; he was ancient—one of those wizened little men who seems to have an inexhaustible supply of energy, and appears destined to live forever. He was spry enough, though, and interested in taking on the job of guiding Maidia to Choteau in return for the spare horse.
“Yessir, Marshal, I’d be right glad to make a swap like that,” he chirruped. “Trapping ain’t much right now and a horse’d sure be a help to me in winter, when I go to set out my lines. And I get along just fine with the Cherokee people. My last wife was Cherokee, which makes me sorta kin to ‘em, I guess they figure. So I’ll take on the job, if you and the lady agree.”
Shortly after noon, having seen Maidia and her new escort safely on their way to Choteau, Longarm was ready to resume his own interrupted trip. He’d planned, when leaving Fort Gibson, on being able to get to Fort Smith in two full days of travel. He was running about a half-day behind. Still, he now thought he might be able to make up most of the lost time. By pushing on a little bit harder than he’d planned, he had a chance of pulling into Fort Smith around midnight.
Unfortunately, his calculations didn’t take ferry schedules into consideration. The last boat leaving the slip at Little Juarez on the west side of the Arkansas River pulled out at midnight, and he missed it by a full half-hour. He soon found that his luck wasn’t altogether bad, though. There were always a few travelers who got to the slip just a little bit too late to catch the last ferry, and taking care of their needs between midnight and dawn had created a major industry in the settlement called Little Juarez, which had grown up around the landing.
Longarm found a saloon that not only had a good stock of prime Maryland rye, but a passable free lunch. There was a livery stable where he left his horse, and a barbershop that stayed open all night and offered hot baths in addition to the usual tonsorial services. A short stay at the saloon—just long enough to get a snack at the free
