meant it. I’d be interested in her the same as I am in anybody that lives on the wrong side of the law.
“I’ve got a rule never to let a husband stop me from doing what I feel like doing, when I like a man,” she told him. “No man alive owns Belle Starr, the Bandit Queen. You think that over, Windy.”
“Oh, I will. I sure will.”
“Now that we’ve got that out of the way, suppose you tell me who showed you how to find Younger’s Bend,” she said.
“Nobody.”
“Don’t lie, Windy. Somebody had to tell you.”
“Now, Belle, you know how word gets around. Hell, this place is getting as well-known as the Hole in the Wall, Buzzard’s Roost, and Brown’s Hole.” Longarm named only three of the eight or nine places he knew of, from Wyoming and Utah down to the Big Bend of Texas, where men on the run could drop out of sight of the law. It was a regular network of bolt-holes; none of them were actually unknown to lawmen, but most of the hideouts were natural fortresses that would have taken an army with artillery to penetrate.
“Is that the truth?” Belle seemed pleased and flattered.
“Don’t have any reason to lie to you. I disremember who it was told me about Younger’s Bend, or where I was when I heard about it, but it’s a place I’ve had in the back of my mind for quite a while.”
“And you finally got here. Where are you wanted, Windy?”
“Hold on. You’ve got your rules, Belle, and I got mine. One of them is that I don’t talk about myself.”
“Yazoo said you were real close-mouthed. I guess he was right.”
“He ought to know,” Longarm said with a smile.
“Well, I’m going to let you stay,” Belle said. “Ten dollars gold a day for your room and meals. If you’re short, I’ll take a one-third cut of whatever you bring in from the next job you pull. If you haven’t got anything planned, I can work out a deal for you with Floyd and Steed, I suppose.”
Longarm took time to fish out a cheroot and light it. When the cigar was drawing well, he asked, “Who are Floyd and Steed?”
“Two of the fellows staying here. They’ll be in for supper pretty soon. They’ve been here quite a while, they’ll tell you how easy things are. You know the U.S. law can’t touch you here, I guess? Arkansas, Texas, Kansas, Colorado—don’t have to worry about any sheriffs from anyplace. Or from the U.S. marshal’s office, either.”
“That’s one of the reasons I’m here,” Longarm said truthfully, again letting Belle put her own interpretation on his words.
“I’ve got a treaty with the Cherokee Nation, you see,” Belle went on. Longarm looked up at the word “treaty”; it was the same one that had riled Gower so badly. Belle went on, “The only way the law can come into the Nation is by an invitation from the Indian police, or if they’re chasing somebody they’ve caught on a job.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“I was pretty sure you had. But I’m telling you this because I want you to understand how it is here. As long as one of my guests doesn’t pull any kind of job in the Nation, my treaty holds. So if you’ve got any ideas about operating out of here, just be sure it’s across one of the state lines.”
“I’ve been moving so fast I ain’t had time to look around for any setups for a job,” Longarm said.
“Well, when you get ready, you let me know. I can fix up something for you with the fellows I told you about.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Longarm promised.
Sam Starr and Bobby came in. “I fed and watered your horse, Windy,” Sam said. “Didn’t bother your saddle gear, though. Wasn’t sure whether you’d be staying or riding on.”
“Windy’s staying awhile,” Belle announced. “Now, you’d better see to supper, Sam. Floyd and Steed will be showing up any minute, yelling how hungry they are. And be sure you set a place for Windy.”
Almost before Belle had finished speaking, loud voices outside announced the arrival of the other two outlaws. They burst into the house, still arguing. One of them said to Belle, “Tell this damn fool he’s seeing things, Belle. Steed says he seen Sam and Bobby hauling Mckee’s body up to the grove a few minutes ago.”
“He wasn’t seeing things, Floyd,” Belle replied. “Mckee’s dead. Sam’s going to bury him right after supper.”
“See! I was right!” Steed said.
Steed was the blustering type. He was in his mid-twenties, high-colored, husky, broad-shouldered, heavy of leg and thigh. His hands looked like small hams, and his neck was as thick as a steer’s. He had a pistol stuck into his belt; Longarm wondered if he made a habit of carrying a gun that way. More than one careless gun-handler who took up the habit of toting an unholstered gun stuck between belly and belt had checked out with a set of bullet- riddled guts.
Floyd was Steed’s antithesis. He was pale, his eyes a watery blue, his hair the shade of unbleached tow. His hands were small, almost delicate. His face was thin, and somehow managed to look mournful even when he was smiling. In repose, he appeared to be suffering from either chronic melancholy or a stomach-ache. Floyd carried his revolver in a cross-draw holster, high on his left side. Longarm marked him as being the one to keep an eye on.
While Belle confirmed Mckee’s death, Floyd’s lips compressed into an even thinner line than they were normally. He asked Belle, “What happened to him?”
“You’ll have to ask Windy.” Belle pointed to Longarm, who hadn’t moved when the two men came in. “There was some sort of old grudge between him and Mckee, and he settled it!”
Floyd wheeled to face Longarm. “You shot Mckee?”
