“I do know, Custis. How well I do remember.” She sighed.
“So do I, Emmy. So do I.” That, at least, was no lie.
“We could start over, Custis. You know how good me and you are together. Nobody’s ever been like you, Custis. Nobody. Not even … not nobody.”
“I’m sore tempted,” he lied. “I remember every bit as good as you. But there’s somebody in my life now, Emmy, and good a woman as you are, I know you wouldn’t want me to be untrue. Not when I’ve made my pledge to her.”
“You’re married, Custis?”
“No, Emmy, not yet. I would’ve told you before if that was so. But we ain’t real far from it. Time I’ve had my talk with Harry an’ got back to Denver, I expect I’ll be gettin’ down onto a knee an’ havin a talk with her.”
Emmaline closed her eyes and for a moment Longarm thought she was about to weep. But when she looked up again she managed a smile, a warm and true and genuine smile that was so fond and kind and selfless that Longarm felt like a real son of a bitch for having lied to her. “I wish you luck, Custis. Luck and happiness. I hope you know that.”
“I was hopin’ you would, Emmy.”
“Nothing but, dear. Forever.”
“You’re a good woman, Emmy. An’ a good friend.”
Emmaline tilted her head to one side and looked at him for a moment. Then she grinned and shook her head.
“What?” he asked.
She only shook her head again.
“Aw, tell me. I could see you was thinking something. Tell me.”
Emmy laughed. “I was wondering if this very lucky lady of yours has a father, Custis. Because I just realized that the thought of you having to ask some stern papa for your lady friend’s hand is about the funniest thing I could ever think of.”
Longarm chuckled too. “Y’know, Emmy, that’s something I hadn’t ever thought of my own self. Now that you mention it, it sure does sound scary.”
“So, Custis. Does she have a father?”
“Yes,Emmy, she does have a father.”
“Is he big, Custis? Does he have a mustache and scowl a lot?”
“Damn if I know, Emmy. I haven’t met him yet. He’s out in Idaho in a mining camp,” Longarm said, glibly making up the yarn at the same time he spun it.
“What if he says no, Custis?”
“Emmy! Really! Who could say no to me?”
She laughed again. “Not me, dear. Never me. And I can’t imagine anyone else refusing you either.”
“You’re a dear yourself, Emmy,” he said, feeling much more comfortable now that Emmaline was no longer intent on trying to rekindle cold ashes. “Could we talk now?”
She sighed. And glanced this time toward a velvet-cushioned barrel chair nearby. “Sit down, Custis. I’ll tell you everything I know about Harry. Including where he’s working nowadays.”
Chapter 10
To the great and overwhelming joy of such companies as the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad, Colorado Fuel and Iron, Estero Mining and Minerals, and Great Western Coal and Coke, the foothills of southern Colorado were riddled with easily accessible pockets of soft coal. With railroads expanding rapidly throughout the entire West, and with the added needs of a burgeoning steel and foundry industry in nearby Pueblo—to say nothing of household heating and cooking needs—coal had quickly become a major factor in the mineral values of the state. Gold and silver were the headliners. But it was coal that was putting dividends into the pockets of investors, and in large measure too it was coal that was putting food onto the tables of the workingmen who laboriously dug it out of the ground. While relatively few men could handle the drilling and blasting that was required to extract gold ores, it took sweat and muscle, pick and pry bar—and plenty of manpower—to dig coal.
Fortunately for the needs of the state, there was a ready supply of coal available and of the men to dig it. Much of the Denver and Rio Grande right of way from the Arkansas River valley south all the way into New Mexico was paralleled by sharp-ridged foothills that held coal deposits lying conveniently close to the surface. The eastern slopes of the Wet Mountains and the Spanish Peaks were rotten with the stuff. And wherever coal was located, mines and towns grew ready to exploit the mineral wealth. The town of Cargyle was one of many such. Longarm had never been to Cargyle before. But he had certainly been to enough of its sisters to know what he could expect. A company town with company housing, company store, and company rules. The miners would take their wages from the company. And pay it all right back again for lodging, food, and whatever else a man might need. At Cargyle the company—if it mattered—was GWC&C, Great Western Coal and Coke. According to Emmaline Bertolucci, Harry Bolt was town marshal of Cargyle, which meant in essence that he was GWC&C’s figurehead, hired man, and bullyboy. It would be Harry’s job to keep the miners in line when they were above ground. The foremen and supervisors would ride herd on them the other twelve hours of each day.
Longarm roused to the call of the Denver and Rio Grande conductor and tipped his Stetson back away from his eyes. There was something about the racketing rattle-and-thump of a train in motion that oft-times made him sleepy. He woke completely when the friendly conductor spoke to him, though, and reached for a cheroot, first offering one to the gent in the visored cap who’d been nice enough to warn him that his stop was ahead.
“Thanks,” the conductor said. “Don’t mind if I do.”
“How long to Cargyle?” Longarm asked.
“You feel the train slowing?”
