There was no discussion necessary and scant hesitation. Rick jumped down off the buckboard to grab Longarm’s things and stow them carefully into the wagon bed, while Buddy was just as quick to steady his pony, still agitated and wanting to run after the excitement of the race, so the paying customer could climb onto the cart. A couple minutes more and they were moving calmly—well, more or less so—in the direction of Cargyle.
The town pretty much turned out to be a repeat of all the other coal mining company towns along this stretch of country. At the mouth of the shallow canyon leading into Cargyle a meager scattering of shanties, saloons, and businesses of dubious purpose sat like a clump of toadstools between the railroad tracks and the creek bed. These, Longarm knew, would be the few genuine private businesses to be found hereabouts. Some of them anyhow. Many of the big companies owned these “shadow” businesses that popped up wherever there were workingmen drawing regular pay. And for sure, regardless of who might actually own the places, none could operate here without the consent of the all-powerful company, in Cargyle’s case the GWC&C. All of them, however, would be situated on public land, or at least on parcels that were not directly owned by the company. That pattern seemed to be inviolable because with it the company could not be blamed for anything unsavory that might take place close to, but not located directly upon, company property.
In this particular instance there wasn’t any signpost or gate to show where the company property line was drawn. But Longarm could guess at it close enough for his purposes. It would be within twenty feet, maybe less, of the last shanty in this clump of pathetic businesses. Everything beyond that would belong to Great Western Coal and Coke.
As for what all of that might encompass, he couldn’t yet actually see. But once again he knew good and well what to expect, at least in a generalized sort of way.
From the mouth of the canyon he could see the creek bed, the rails, and the winding, dusty roadway. Beyond that, somewhere past the first bend in the irregular hillsides, several plumes of pale smoke lifted into the midday air. Up there he knew he would find dozens and dozens of tiny box-like shacks that would be the company housing rented out to men with wives and children. There would be barracks-like boardinghouses, huge and efficient chow halls, fairly grand administrative offices, and some nice homes that would be assigned to the company managers, a company store or possibly several of them, one of which would include a post office, a small jail—and dominating everything else, above and beyond all the rest of it, there would be the coal. Gaping drift mouths with the black residues spreading fan-like beneath the openings. Great storage piles and railcar loading hoppers. Steam engines to drive the conveyors. Tool sheds and handcars and all the thousand and one things it took to make a mine and keep it functioning.
Cargyle, Longarm knew, had nothing to do with structures and damn little to do with people. What Cargyle was, had been, and always would be was coal. And nothing but.
“You goin’ up to the offices, mister?” little Buddy asked.
“I don’t know, son. Is there a hotel up there?”
“No hotel here, mister. No need for one. Everybody that comes here gets company housing one way or another. If he don’t get company housing, then he ain’t welcome anyhow and might as well go back where he come from.”
Longarm suspected the kid was quoting most of that speech. But the message was clear enough anyway. He scratched under his chin and pondered. He wasn’t at all sure he would qualify to be given a room courtesy of the GWC&C. And if he did qualify, he wasn’t at all sure that he’d want one. Not that he had anything against the GWC&C. He didn’t. But he sure as hell wouldn’t want to be beholden to Harry Bolt. Not in any way, shape, or form.
“I tell you what, son. Let’s see if we can find any place out here where I might put up for a night or two. I, uh, I’d pay for the lodging, of course. Can you think of anybody that’d …”
“My ma would let you stay with us, mister. You could have my bed an’ I can make up a place on the floor. It wouldn’t cost you much. And my ma cooks real good. Honest. You’ll see.”
Rick, sitting on the spring seat of the buckboard nearby, sneered and in a nasty tone of voice said, “His ma is a whore, mister. Give her fifty cents an’ she’ll lick your dingus till you pee in her mouth.”
Longarm reached out in time to snag Buddy by the back of his britches and haul him back onto the seat of the cart. The much smaller boy had launched himself at Rick before all the words were even out of the older kid’s mouth. “That’s a lie, you dirty sonuvabitch, stinking bastard, yellow shitface dog screwer.”
Longarm admired the intensity of the emotion, but didn’t figure he could award Buddy very many points for class or imagery. “Whoa, dammit,” he ordered loudly. “Rick, I want you to apologize to Buddy.”
“But …”
“No buts, dammit. Even if you believe what you said is true—and mind, I’m not no way claiming that it is —but even if you believe it, Rick, it’s an ugly thing for anybody to say. A person has dignity and pride. I’m sure you want Buddy to respect yours, so you gotta show him you’re willing to respect his. So I want you to take back what you just said.” Longarm gave the older boy a hooded look, which got the kid’s attention.
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t say it to me, son, say it to Buddy.”
“Buddy, I’m sorry I said bad things about your ma.”
“All right. Buddy, tell Rick you accept his apology.”
“But …”
“Do it!”
“Yessir. Rick, I … you know.” he said.
“Tell him,” Longarm said.
Buddy sighed. “I accept you apologizing. An’ my ma ain’t no hoor.”
“I already said she wasn’t.”
“No, you said you was sorry you said she was. You never said that she wasn’t.”
“All right then, I say she ain’t. Is that better?”
