place.”
He hadn’t paid much attention to Belle’s moonshining operations. Even though she was breaking a federal law by making untaxed liquor, the Cherokee Nation was still only marginally under direct Federal jurisdiction. It was a matter of common consent that the Indian police would take care of controlling the hundreds of illicit stills that operated on what the local residents called “whiskey ranches.” Longarm hadn’t given much thought to the manner in which Belle delivered the whiskey Yazoo produced; he’d just assumed that the customers came after the liquor and hauled it away themselves.
Sam said, “Well, Belle don’t like for the whiskey-buyers to come here to the place. We got a boat down at the foot of the bluff, and Yazoo poles it across the river, drifts downstream a couple of miles, and there’s the customer, waiting at his regular place with his wagon, on the other side of the Canadian.”
Longarm nodded his understanding. From a moonshiner’s standpoint, making delivery at some anonymous spot along a riverbank made more sense than having wagons beat a well-defined track to the still.
“Well, then,” he said, “I guess I’ll go on down to the cabin and settle back in.”
“You’re sure you don’t want me to fix you a bite to eat?” Sam asked. “Dinner’s going to be late, because Belle and Floyd and Yazoo likely won’t be back by noon.”
“No, thanks. I’ll hold out all right. No need for you to take extra trouble.”
“Oh, I don’t mind doing something a little extra for you, Windy. Which is more than I’d say for most of Belle’s guests. There’s times when-” Starr stopped abruptly. “Well, never mind. You just come on back when you get hungry.”
“I’ll do that,” Longarm promised as he started for the cabin.
Apparently no one had been inside the place during his absence. There was dust on everything, and the bottle of Maryland rye that he’d left standing on the table still had a drink or two left in it. Longarm had part of the whiskey while he undid his bedroll and took a few of his possibles—including a supply of cheroots and a fresh bottle of rye—from his saddlebags. The folded newspaper came to hand, and he put it on the table to take up to the house with him when Belle and the others returned. Since he had nothing else to do, he stretched out on the bedroll and devoted himself to thinking while he rested. The job he’d promised to take on for Murphy required a little bit of planning.
Noon came and passed with no solution having presented itself. Longarm was beginning to get hungry. He stood up and stretched, finished off the almost empty bottle, and led the hammerhead bay up to the house. Starr was sitting on the porch, cleaning his guns. Longarm noticed that the quiet, browbeaten husband of the ebullient Bandit Queen handled his weapon with professional skill, and gave them the sort of care that any sensible man who depended on guns for his livelihood, if not for actual survival, might be expected to give them.
“Getting hungry?” Starr asked.
“A mite. But you go on with what you’re doing. My belly’s telling me it’s there, but it ain’t yelling at me yet.”
Starr gave the barrel of his Spencer carbine a final rub with an oil rag, and propped the weapon up beside the bench he was sitting on. “I haven’t started dinner yet, because Yazoo usually puts out a line when he takes the boat to make a delivery, and brings back a mess of fish.” He looked at Longarm curiously. “You ever remember where you ran into Yazoo before, Windy?”
Longarm shook his head. “Hell, Sam, you know how it is. A man gets around a lot, pretty much moving fast and not staying anyplace too long. He sees a lot of faces. And it ain’t likely Yazoo looks like he did, wherever it was we bumped into each other.”
“Sure. Not unless it’s somebody he’s partnered with, or had trouble with.” Starr looked obliquely at Longarm. “You didn’t have much trouble remembering Mckee.”
“Mckee looked just like he did when me and him had our run-in. And when you’ve got a grudge between you and somebody, you ain’t as likely to forget him as you would a man you just bad a drink with, or sat in a poker game with somewhere.”
“I guess you know Floyd and Steed are still edgy because you won’t give them your real handle.”
“I can’t say I blame them,” Longarm replied. “But I told Floyd I wasn’t about to give him anything on me until I had something on him. He ought to understand that.”
“Oh, I guess he does. Up to a point. But he’s still edgy.”
“He’ll get over it. I didn’t ask him and Steed to take me in on whatever job it is they’re cooking up. It was their idea—or Belle’s, I disremember which.”
“Sounds like Belle’s. I don’t recall being around when it first came up.” He stared challengingly at Longarm and added, “Belle’s got a lot on her mind, you know. She’s always figuring something out ahead of time, and now and then she’ll forget to tell me things.”
“How’d you and Belle happen to meet up, Sam?” Longarm asked.
“Jim Reed was a good friend of mine. Cherokee blood in both of us, you know. We were on a few jobs together before Jim and Belle got married. Then, after Jim got killed, it was a while before I saw Belle. And when I did, we hit it off right well, so we married up. You know, while Jim and Belle was married, they stayed on the run most of the time. Down in Texas, here in the Nation, up in Missouri for a while, then to Arkansas, and back to Texas. That’s not good for a woman trying to bring up a couple of kids.”
Longarm had difficulty picturing the soft-spoken, mild-mannered Sam Starr riding with an outlaw who’d gotten the kind of reputation Jim Reed had for ingenuity, daring, and cold-bloodedness. Sam seemed to be the kind of man who fitted best into the role he now filled, as the subservient husband of a domineering wife. And he had more than a hunch that it had been Belle who’d done most of the wooing in their romance. He wondered just how big a part Sam’s land at Younger’s Bend had played in her decision to marry him.
“So you settled down here.”
“Well, I had the land from my tribe’s allotment. And even if Belle did send the children back to Missouri to get a good education, it’ll be here for them to come back to when they’re older. And it’s a nice place to live. Convenient and private.”
“That’s sure the truth,” Longarm agreed. He was tempted to ask about the naming of Sam’s land for
