law would relish a chance to meet up with James and his gang.”
“Well, I don’t expect you to find Jesse James at Younger’s Bend, Long. Still, if the old story’s true and Jesse actually did use Belle’s place as a hideout once, there’s the outside chance that he might come back there.”
“I won’t count on it. Fact of the matter is, I don’t see that I can count on much of anything. The only thing I’m hoping is that I don’t run into some owlhoot I’ve brought in someplace else, somebody who might recognize me.”
“I’ve thought about that, too. That’s one of the things that can get your neck into a noose on any orders or instructions, Long. From what Billy’s told me, you’ve got your own way of handling your cases, and I wouldn’t want to cramp your style. I don’t expect you to report to me until the case is closed, but you know that if you get into a bind, I’ll do whatever I can to get you out of it.”
Longarm lighted another cheroot before replying. Puffing out a cloud of smoke, he said thoughtfully, “I guess the only way to start eating an apple is to take the first bite, and that’s to see how the land lays at Younger’s Bend. You say it’s right on the Canadian River?”
Gower nodded. “Just to the southeast of a little town called Eufaula. It’s a long day’s ride from here, but if you get an early start-“
“Now, I sure don’t aim to set out today. I had a bellyful of horseback travel getting here from Fort Gibson, and all the sleep I got last night was in a bathtub at that little place by the ferryboat landing across the river.”
Gower pulled open a drawer of his desk and took out a drawstring pouch made of buckskin. He tossed it across the desk. The pouch landed in front of Longarm with a metallic clunk.
“I told Billy I’d be responsible for your expenses while you’re on this case. Too damn much red tape, routing requisitions through the Denver office, and you can’t be running in here every week or so to fill out vouchers. There’s five hundred in gold in that bag.” Longarm’s eyebrows rose as Gower continued, “Bring back what you don’t use and write one voucher on what you’ve spent when the case is closed. I won’t argue about how big the voucher is.”
“Thanks.” Longarm nodded. “I’ll make sure you get good value.”
“I know you will,” Gower replied. “Now, anything else you need?”
“Oh, I picked up an ordnance map before I took off from Fort Gibson. It’s old, but it shows the hills and streams, and that’s all I need to get me by.” Longarm stood up. “I’ll be moving, then, Marshal Gower. You’ll hear from me when you hear from me, I guess, but don’t look for it to be anytime soon.”
“Whenever you get a chance to send word,” Gower said. “And good luck, Long.” Somewhat grimly, he added, “I’m pretty sure you’ll need it.”
On the boardwalk outside the federal building, Longarm stood for a moment, taking stock. All he really needed was sleep. He mounted and started to look for a hotel. As he headed down Front Street, an idea struck him. His business in Fort Smith was finished, and if he wanted to get an early start for Younger’s Bend tomorrow, he’d have to take the last ferry across the Arkansas before midnight, or delay his start until the first boat made the crossing, and that wouldn’t be until six the next morning.
There ain’t any reason for me to waste the best part of a day, he told himself. That little town over across the river in the Nation’s got all I need and the saloon there Pours as good a Maryland rye as any I’m likely to find here in Arkansas.
Instead of continuing toward the buildings of Fort Smith, he reined the horse around in the middle of the deserted street and headed back in the direction of the ferry landing.
That river’s got to be crossed sooner or later, old son, he thought as his army mount clattered over the brick-paved street, And it won’t be one inch narrower tomorrow morning than it is right now.
Longarm’s mental alarm clock jerked him into wakefulness. It was still pitch dark, and the room in the small hotel he’d found in Little Juarez was totally silent. There was no sound beyond the door leading to the hallway, no rumbling of wagon wheels or clumping of hooves was audible through the half-open window.
Reaching for his vest, draped over the back of a chair pulled close to the bed, Longarm fingered his watch from its pocket and snapped open the case before lighting one of the matches he’d laid beside the base of the lamp that stood in the seat of the chair. The watch confirmed the message his mind had sent him. it was four o’clock— time to be up and on the trail. By the time he’d dressed, had a quick breakfast, and picked up the horse he’d rented at the livery stable around the corner from the hotel, dawn would be slitting the eastern sky.
He lifted the lamp chimney and touched the match to the wick before the flame got to his fingertips. Light bathed the room. He sat on the edge of the bed, stretching, then reached for the bottle of Maryland rye he’d bought at the saloon before turning in the night before. A full day of sleep the preceding day, and a long, restful night on top of that, had erased the dragged-out feeling he’d had after his talk with Andrew Gower, and the healthy swig Of rye he swallowed swept the last vestiges of cobwebs from his brain.
Longarm’s gray flannel shirt hung on the right-hand headpost of the bed, his covert-cloth trousers under it. His holstered Colt dangled on the bedpost opposite, where it would be handy if he was forced to reach for it while in bed.
He fastened the top buttons of his balbriggans, slid his arms into his shirt and buttoned it, shoe-horned himself into his skin-tight trousers, then stomped into his stovepipe cavalry boots before standing up.
Before going out to supper last night, Longarm had cleaned his guns—Winchester, Colt, and derringer— and reloaded them with fresh ammunition, but he took a bit of extra time in getting the set of his cross-draw gunbelt completely right. In Longarm’s book, a gun was useless baggage if a man had to fumble for it when he needed it in a hurry. Satisfied after a few practice draws, he donned his vest and coat, picked up his Winchester and saddlebags, and went out into the dark morning.
The saloon, restaurant, barber shop, and general store were lighted and taking care of trade. Longarm ignored the saloon. He had the partly finished bottle of rye in his saddlebag, as well as an unopened bottle he’d bought to take along.
A half-dozen vehicles were lined up along the street in front of the cafe: wagons, a buggy, a buckboard,
