Caldwell took him into an office where a sending set sat under a rack of wet-cell batteries. Longarm sat down at the table and began to tap out his reply, routing it through the Bureau of Indian Affairs to the Justice Department and thence to the Denver office. With the salutations out of the way, he sent:
ANSWER TO #ONE MY JOB STOP ANSWER TO #TWO LIKELY DEAD STOP ANSWER TO #THREE No STOP
SIGNED LONG
Agent Caldwell, who’d sent some Morse in his time, had listened in. He said, “If that don’t confuse your boss, it pure confuses me! Would you mind letting me in on just what the hell you’re up to, old son?”
“Cutting and branding, like I said. Just got rid of that feller from Canada, and by the way, you can use your smokehouse again. Sergeant Foster rode off with the body.”
“You let the Northwest Mounted steal a U.S. federal fugitive?”
“No. I let him think he did. That owlhoot was just a poor shiftless thief who never did anything Uncle Sam’s interested in. Got at least a couple of birds with one shot, too. By slickering the Mountie into vanishing off into the blue with the evidence, I can forget who might have to answer to Utah for killing him. I’d be obliged if we kept all this between us, though. Might be a few birds left to that shot I just mentioned.”
“What was that about Kincaid?”
“He’s another deputy, turned up missing. I’m looking for the one that bushwhacked him on his way to Crooked Lance. Been snooping around for Mexican heels and a.30-30 deer rifle amongst the folks I brought over here yesterday evening. Ain’t found anybody that fits, yet. But we’ll have more company, soon. Let’s see about them ham and eggs. I’ve worked up a real appetite, likely from the mountain air.”
A band of mounted Indians brought in Mabel Hanks and the six riders from Crooked Lance who’d been with her when she tried to cut Longarm and his prisoner off at Bitter Creek. They’d given up there, and followed sign as far as the scene of Tinker’s death before being jumped and captured by Longarm’s Indian allies.
Mabel rode in dusty but trying to look elegant, sitting sidesaddle under her feathered hat, which the Indians admired immensely. Her little husband came over as Longarm helped Mabel dismount, stealing a feel of the holstered, man-sized S&W she wore around her corseted waist. Cedric Hanks said, “You shouldn’t have let ‘em take you, damn it!”
“Oh, shut up! What were we supposed to do, make a stand in a dry canyon against all these Indians? What’s going on hereabouts? It looks like you-all had a firefight where these jaspers surrounded us.”
Cedric shrugged and said, “They surrounded us, too. This lawman’s pretty slick, but he lost his prisoner. Damned if I can figure what he wants with the rest of Us.”
Mabel glanced at Longarm and asked, “Is that right? Did the prisoner get away after all the work we did?”
“Didn’t get away, ma’am. He’s on his way to Canada, dead. That Mountie rode off with the body.”
“And you’re still standing here? what’s the matter with you? He can’t be more’n a few miles off. Why ain’t you chasing him?”
“Got bigger fish to fry. Besides, I’ve transported dead ones before. Gets tedious to smell after a day or so on the trail. I figure packing a rotting cadaver all the way to Canada is punishment enough for being more stubborn than smart. You and these boys hungry? The agent sent some husked dry corn over from the stores and the Indians will sell you jerked beef and coffee. For folks as aimed to track me and mine from hell to breakfast, you didn’t store much grub in your possibles.”
“We thought you was making for Bitter Creek, like you said.”
“I figured you might. Where’s Captain Walthers? Following the tracks across the Great Salt Desert?”
“How should I know? The army man peeled off along the way. He rode off talking dark about a telegram to the War Department.”
“That’s good. Why don’t you set a spell and make yourselves to home? I’ll be over at the agency if you need anything. Anything important, that is. I don’t split firewood and the Indians will show you where to get water, answer the call of nature, or whatever.”
He walked away, leaving the newcomers to jaw about their position with those already gathered, worried and restless, around the campfire.
As he crunched across the gravel, Hanks fell in at his side, protesting, “Not so fast, damn it. You got no right to hold Mabel and me. We ain’t done nothing. Hell, the other night, I thought you and me was going to spring Cotton Younger together!”
“So did I, ‘til I got a better grasp on the situation. You were right about Mabel being killed with me, but what the hell, she had her reasons.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Did Cotton Younger say anything to you ‘fore he passed away? You must know it wasn’t my idea to shoot him before he told us where the James Boys was hiding!”
“He died sort of sudden.” Longarm lied.
“Jesus, didn’t you get anything out of him? How come you let that Sergeant Foster steal him? Wasn’t your orders to bring him in dead or alive?”
“Yep, but I just explained all that. They’ll likely rawhide me some for losing the body, but not as hard as they would have for gunning a guest of the U.S. State Department, and Foster was a serious cuss. Besides, what can you really do to a dead owlhoot? He can’t talk and hanging him without a fair trial seems a mite uncivilized. I reckon they could hold a trial, if the jury had clothespins on their noses and the judge didn’t ask how he pleaded, but as you can see, it’d be a waste of time and the taxpayer’s money.”
“You’re funning me, Longarm. I’ll bet you got it out of him. I’ll bet you know where Jesse James is hiding! I know you marshals from old. You wouldn’t take that Mountie pulling the wool over your eyes unless you was on to
