instructions.”
Sheriff Weed said, “I got some old Missouri boys riding out to back my play.”
The Mountie said nothing. His service was only a few years old, but Longarm had heard about their motto.
Turning to Weed, he said, “You’ve come from the owlhoot’s old stamping grounds, Sheriff. Before we get ourselves in any deeper, is there a chance that pissant over at the jail could be telling the truth? We’re gonna look silly as all hell if it turns out he’s not the Cotton Younger all of us are fighting over.”
Weed said, “It’s him, all right. How many tall, skinny owlhoots with a wispy white thatch like his can there be?”
The railroad dick nodded and said, “I’ve seen photographs of the kid, sitting next to his cousin Cole Younger, and Frank James. He’s older now, and his hair’s gone from almost white to pale yellow, but it’s him.”
The army man smiled a bit smugly and said, “At the risk of finding something to agree on with the rest of you, I have his army records and they fit him like a glove. He deserted from Terry’s column as a teenaged recruit. He’s no more than twenty-five now. He’s a few pounds heavier, but the height is right on the button. They let me measure him. It would be possible to make an error of half an inch, but his records don’t. He’s exactly six-foot, six and three-quarter inches. He tried to tell me he’d never been in the army, too.”
Longarm nodded, satisfied at least with the identification of the prisoner, if nothing else. Before he could go into it further, the door to the hotel banged open and Chambrun du Val came out loaded for bear. He scowled at Longarm and roared, “Salud! Por quoi you hit Chambrun du Val? Where is mon rifle? Sacre! I think she will kill you, me!”
As the burly older man lurched across the veranda at Longarm, the railroad dick put out a boot and tripped him, sending du Val sprawling on his hands and knees as Longarm stepped clear with a nod of thanks. Before du Val could rise, Longarm snapped, “Now listen, old son, and listen sharp! Your war is over. You ain’t going to harm a hair on Cotton Younger’s head. I ain’t asking you, I’m telling you.”
“I kill him, but first, by gar, I kill you!”
“Oh, shut up, I ain’t finished. You ain’t going to kill me because I don’t aim to let you. On the other hand, I can’t watch you around the clock and still get anything done, so I’m counting on your good sense about the prisoner over at the jail house. You gun that old boy and you can say goodbye to breathing. Forgetting me and these four other lawmen, he’s worth God knows what to a whole valleyful of vigilantes, and if they decide to string you up for murdering their prisoner, I for one wouldn’t stop ‘em!”
“Chambrun du Val, she fears nothing, him!”
“Maybe, but you think on it before You make anY more sudden moves.”
The Mountie came over to help the old man to his feet, saying, “I’ll take over, Longarm.”
He took the old man by the arm and walked him Off for a fatherly talk. Longarm noticed the Mountie was speaking French, but a few paces off the old trapper laughed and swore, “Merde alors! Misieur’s speaks like a paris pimp! The English of Chambrun du Val, she is more betaire than these strange noises Misieur’s regards as French!”
The laugh was a good sign. Longarm decided the old man would be all right for now and turned back to the other three on the veranda, saying, “It’s early yet. I’m going to have a talk with this Timberline everyone in Crooked Lance looks up to. Any of you know how I can find him?”
Sheriff weed said, “He’ll may be riding in later. He’s the foreman of the Rocking H, about six miles down the valley.”
“He comes to town every night? Don’t they have a bunkhouse at his spread?”
“Sure, but he’s interested in our stalemate, here.”
The railroad dick added, “Interested in Kim Stover, too. Her spread’s just outside of town, behind them trees to the north.”
“I’ll bite. Who’s Kim Stover? Any kin to the rascal who owns this hotel and everything else in town worth mention?”
“Old Stovers her father-in-law. Miss is the widow of his late son, Ben. They tell us he was run over by the trail herd, summer before last. Matter of fact, she don’t seem to get along good with her in-laws.”
Captain Walthers sniffed and chimed in, “who could blame the poor woman? You saw the unwashed lout who’s taking advantage of us at two bits a night. The Stovers are white trash!”
Longarm didn’t ask if the widow was good-looking. She had the la-di-da young officer defending her and the big froggy of the valley courting her. He blew a thoughtful smoke ring. “Like I said, it’s still early. I’ll mosey out to the Rocking H this afternoon and see what this Timberline gent has to say about the burr he’s put under my saddle.”
Longarm walked around the building to where he’d left his bay in the livery shed. As he was saddling up, the others drifted in and started untethering their own mounts.
The railroad dick said, “the boys and me will just tag along to sort of keep you company, all right?”
“You trust each other as much as you trust me?”
Sheriff Weed grinned and said, “Not hardly,” as the Mountie and du Val came in from their stroll. The older man’s two big black geldings were the only ones not in the livery shed. Du Val let them run free like old hounds, but Longarm knew they’d come when he whistled. He led his own mount out from under the low overhang and waited politely as the others saddled up. There was no sense trying to get a lead on them. Wherever he went, it seemed likely he’d have company.
As it turned out, it wasn’t a long ride. The railroad dick had fallen in beside Longarm’s bay as the federal man led off. They were passing a windbreak of lodgepole pine and the detective had just said, “That cabin over
