He said he was sorry, finished the coffee, and picked up the old folder. She told him just to leave it atop the filing cabinet, so he did. But as he was leaving she suddenly blurted, as if she’d been trying to hold it in, “I should be through here in about two hours, if you’d care to walk me home. I’d love to hear more about your quest, and my place isn’t half as stuffy as this office.”
He cursed inwardly as he saw that no matter how he answered he was going to make at least one Julesburg gal mad as hell. This one was younger, prettier, and likely less used to being let down by life. Myrtle would be less surprised but more hurt.
He was trying to come up with a graceful way to refuse what had to be the better offer, from a selfish point of view, when he was saved by the sound of gunshots close outside.
He dashed out of the county clerk’s office and down the long corridor for the front entrance. Others were dashing the same way, and he heard someone shouting something about a shooting in the Majestic Saloon. That was where he’d left Smiley and Dutch, so he ran even faster, gun in hand, all the way.
As he burst into the saloon he saw the crowd was standing around the still form of the late Sergeant Fagan. Fagan had changed into a checked suit and personal buscadero gun rig. His army issue revolver reposed in the sawdust at his side. In addition to his earlier injuries at Longarm’s hand and boot, he had a little blue hole in his forehead.
Longarm saw Smiley and Dutch standing sort of alone in the crowd, trying to look innocent. He stepped over the dead man to join them, growling, “All right. Which one of you did he call a son of a bitch?”
Dutch said, “Neither. He called you a son of a bitch,” and added modestly, “He’d have really wound up hurt had he called me a son of a bitch.”
Smiley said, “I’m a witness for the defense. The one on the floor stormed in drunk and loaded for bear just now. He roared out that he was looking for you, and named you just as rudely as old Dutch says. Dutch stepped away from the bar in his usual courteous manner and chided him for speaking so uncouth about a peace officer. The idjet went for his gun without further discussion. He was good. He might have taken anyone who wasn’t as fast as Dutch. But, as you can plainly see, he just wasn’t as good as he thought he might be.”
A couple of townees in the crowd chimed in to back Smiley’s words. One man offered the opinion that Sergeant Fagan had been asking for what he got before Dutch ever gave it to him.
Longarm still rolled his eyes heavenward and told them both they’d acted dumb as hell. “You could have just kept still and let some other idjet deal with him. This world is full of such idjets. Now you’re both stuck here pending a hearing and Lord knows how many forms to fill out.”
Dutch insisted defensively, “Hell, we couldn’t just leave him be, after he told us right out he was gunning for you, could we?”
“I know you meant well, Dutch,” Longarm said, “but this ain’t the first time I’ve told you to leave my fighting to me. For one thing, I’ve a much sweeter disposition.”
“You’d have had to gun this one,” Smiley said flatly, “he was crazy-mean drunk and, drunk or sober, fast. He got that gun out after Dutch had already killed him.”
Dutch nodded. “That’s why I had to shoot him so much. It was the head shot as finally made him lose interest in me. He was so mad and so drunk he didn’t seem to notice getting hit all over the rest of him. It’s rare to see a man stay on his feet with even one.44-40 in him. But he was one tough hombre, with the body weight to soak up the shock.”
An older man with a harassed look and a golden star pinned to his vest hulled through to join them, sighing, “Aw, shit, I knew this cuss wasn’t long for this world, but we’re still going to have a fuss with Uncle Sam about this. He was army, cuss his hide. Who gunned him? I don’t have to ask why.”
Longarm introduced himself and his sidekicks, and Dutch owned up to the shooting without any prompting. “It was pure self-defense, in front of friendly witnesses, and you are talking to Uncle Sam. All three of us is federal.”
The county law looked worried. “I fear I’m going to have to bind you over to the coroner just the same, and I hope you all notice I ain’t bearing arms. I just come from an after-supper lie-down and Lord knows where my fool wife hung my guns.”
Longarm said, “You can’t hold me and Smiley. We didn’t do it.”
But Smiley said, “I ain’t leaving here without my little pard. I would have shot the bastard if Dutch hadn’t beat me to it. He was asking for what he got, and I mean to witness that for old Dutch. So where do we go from here, Sheriff?”
The county law told them he saw no need to lock up fellow peace officers, as long as he had their word they’d stick around until the coroner’s jury decided to let them go or bound them over to the grand jury, which hardly seemed likely.
Longarm was about to say he’d sit in, too. But then a kid from the telegraph office pushed through the crowd, gulped as he saw what they were all crowded around, and handed a wire to the sheriff.
The older man muttered, tore it open, and read it before he said, “Aw, hell, Lord, that just ain’t fair. I got enough on my plate right now. You didn’t have to serve me this as well.”
Longarm asked what was wrong. The sheriff said, “Another damn killing. But hold on. I don’t see why they tried to hand this one to us. It didn’t even occur in Colorado, let alone my county.”
“Who got killed where, then, Sheriff?”
“Blacksmith up in Scott’s Bluff, Nebraska. Looks like it was done by that same little rascal with the fancy chaps. I sure hope it was. That means we’re rid of him.”
Longarm sighed. “Speak for yourself.” Then he turned to Smiley. “You’re going to have to wire Billy anyhow. You can save me some time by adding that our want is following the north fork of the Overland Trail, like I hoped he would, and that I’m on my way the same way.”
“Billy sent us to back your play. You can’t go on alone,” Smiley objected.
“Sure I can. Just watch me. By the time you boys untangle your fool selves, here, I hope to have the little bastard, dead or alive. Tell Billy I’ll try to wire from Scott’s Bluff. I got some complicated railroading to work
