other white men to see if he lies.”
“Can’t you choose these twelve from among your friends?”
“Not supposed to. How long a ride is it to Salt Lake City, maybe with some kicking and fussing along the way?”
“Two days, as white men ride. Maybe three, with trouble. The big town you speak of is sixty, maybe seventy of your miles.”
“Good roads?”
“Yes. Wide wagon trace. Plenty water. Easy riding. Just far. Didn’t you ride that way, the last time you were here after bad white men?”
“No, took the hard way home. That’s how I knew about that hold-out in the oil shale country. With all the folks and the fooling about, I’ll figure on a seventy-two hour ride. It’s gonna be a tricky bitch, but I’ll manage.”
Hungry Calf wandered off and Longarm spent the morning trying not to go out of his head from inaction. By noon, more than one of the people in White Sticks had pestered him for an idea of when he intended, for God’s sake, to do something.
A little past noon he wandered over to the crowd around the cold campfire. His scouts had told him the army troops were long gone, and he saw that Kim Stover had joined her Crooked Lance friends, along with the Hankses and Timberline.
He moved into position, took a deep breath, and let half of it out as he said flatly, “Cedric Hanks and Mabel Hanks, you are under arrest. Anything you say may be used as evidence against you.”
Everyone looked more than startled, but the midget leaped to his feet as if he were about to have a running fit. Mabel started to reach under her duster as Longarm’s.44 came out. “Don’t do it, Mabel. I’d hate to gun a lady.”
Cedric gasped, “Longarm, have you been drinking, or were you always crazy? You are reaching for straws! We ain’t done a thing you can fine us ten dollars for!”
The others were on their feet now, moving to either side as the little detective danced in front of Longarm, protesting his innocence.
Longarm said, “Deputy Timberline, disarm them prisoners.”
The big ramrod turned and started to do so. “Hot damn! But what are we arresting ‘em for, pardner?”
“The murder of Deputy Kincaid is enough to hang ‘em. We’ll get the details of the other killings out of ‘em in the Salt Lake City jail!”
Cedric Hanks pointed a pudgy finger at his wife and blurted, “It was her that took that shot at you in Bitter Creek, God damn it! But we were only trying to scare you.”
Mabel gasped and said, “It was his idea! I only wanted to be friendly, remember?”
“I remember it fondly, Mabel. You ware them same high heels when you smoked up the law office in Bitter Creek that night. A.30-30 is a light as well as an accurate weapon, too. I’ll allow you made good time, beating me back to the hotel like that. Then you and Cedric made up that fool story about someone running down the hall when I caught him trying to sneak in for another try at me.”
“Longarm, you know I had my head against that panel while you were…”
“Watch it. There are ladies present and you’re talking about your wife.”
“Hang it, I couldn’t have overheard what I overheard unless…”
“You had your head next to my keyhole. Where did you folks bury Kincaid and the other lawman, Hanks?”
“Bury? We never laid eyes on either. We was in Bitter Creek ‘til after you reached Crooked Lance. Hell, we met you on the train, halfway to Cheyenne!”
“So what? It’s a short run and the trains run both ways from Bitter Creek. You were laying for me. Just like you laid for them others sent for Cotton Younger!”
“Hell, there was a whole mess of you sent! You think we’d have been dumb enough to try and stop you all?”
“No, just the smart ones. You used me to do what you aimed to do all along. I’ll allow you got me to spring your friend from the Crooked Lance jail. Or if that wasn’t it, you were trying to get one more lawman out of the way. We’ll settle the details when we carry you before the judge.”
“Longarm, you don’t have a thing on us but hard feelings for some past misunderstandings. Hell, you don’t even have no bodies to show that judge!”
Longarm chuckled and said, “Sure I do. I got both of yours. You mind your manners, and I’ll try to deliver ‘em both alive!”
“I feel sorry for the poor thing,” Kim Stover said as she sat by Longarm on a log, a day’s ride from Ouray Reservation. They’d made camp for the night at a natural clearing near a running brook of purring snow-melt from the Wasatch Mountains. The hands had built a roaring white man’s fire of fallen, wind-cured timber, and the Hankses were across from Longarm and Kim Stover. The midget’s left hand was handcuffed to his partner’s right, for the female of the species in this instance was likely deadlier than the male.
Longarm chewed his unlit cheroot as he studied his new prisoners across the way. Then he shrugged and said, “Nobody asked her to marry up with the little varmint, ma’am.”
“Oh, I’m not feeling sorry for her! It’s the poor little midget she’s obviously led into a life of crime.”
