“We’ve never ridden in a stagecoach,” Roe said, explaining the obvious. “We’re from the East.”
“Where exactly?” Longarm asked.
“Columbus, Ohio,” Esther answered. “We met at college and discovered that we both had always dreamed of living in the American West.”
“How do you like it so far?” Miranda asked.
“We like it a lot,” Trent said. “We loved both Cheyenne and Denver, but we’ve heard that Durango is even nicer.”
“It’s a beautiful town,” Longarm agreed. “You won’t be disappointed.”
“Are the winters real bad?” Esther asked.
“Oh,” Longarm answered, “not that bad. Probably not as severe as you had in Ohio.”
The four of them talked all afternoon as the stage rolled upward into the foothills of the Rockies, and it was enjoyable. Longarm felt guilty having to lie to the Roes about him and Miranda being married, but there was no help for it.
“I can’t believe that we’re actually riding in the same coach with a Western marshal,” Esther gushed. “I’ve seen the dime novels with all the shooting and Indians and … well, have you ever had to use that gun you wear?”
“Plenty of times,” Longarm said without elaboration. “But I’m hoping that it won’t come in handy this trip.”
“So are we,” Trent added fervently. “I have a gun in my pocket, but I’ve never shot it before.”
“Maybe I’d better take a look at it. Just to make sure that it is safe to use.”
The young journalist dragged an old Navy Colt out of his pocket. It was a percussion pistol, and loaded with black powder and ball but no percussion caps, rendering it useless.
“What about the caps?” Longarm asked.
“The man who sold it to me said that I shouldn’t put them on unless I really have to. Do you agree, Marshal?”
“No, I don’t. Putting caps on takes a few seconds that could very well mean the difference between life and death. Do you have any?”
“In my suitcase tied to the back of the stagecoach,” Trent said sheepishly.
“Well, the first time we stop, let’s cap this thing and make sure that it shoots straight,” Longarm said, handing the old weapon back to the reporter. “You really need to get familiar with a gun before you need it. That way, there are no unpleasant surprises.”
“I’m sure he’s right, darling,” the schoolteacher said. She smiled at Longarm. “We feel a lot safer with you aboard, Marshal. I shouldn’t admit this, and I know that it will embarrass my husband, but we almost backed out of this trip and returned to Denver to look for other jobs. Your presence made the difference between going forward … or going back.”
“Well,” Longarm said, a little humbled by that admission and the responsibility that it implied, “chances are that we’ll have no trouble, but at least we’ll be ready if it comes.”
“Yeah,” Trent fretted. “I sure hope those caps didn’t fall out of my bags.”
“Me too,” Longarm said, looking at Miranda, who winked back at him.
That evening, just as the sun was setting and right after their supper, Longarm and young Trent walked out from the stage stop where they would spend the night and tested the old Navy Colt. Trent had found the caps, and they fired and reloaded the cylinder several times, Longarm giving the Easterner some professional tips on how to aim and slowly squeeze the trigger.
“I can’t believe how good a shot you are,” Trent said after Longarm drew his own gun and obliterated several small targets to demonstrate the proper technique.
“I’ve been shooting since I was knee high to a ground squirrel,” Longarm confessed. “I can’t remember when I wasn’t out hunting and shooting. But you don’t have to start early in life. Mostly, you just have to remember not to get rattled and take your time aiming and firing.”
“But I’d be dead if I had to defend myself against someone like you.”
“Yeah, you would,” Longarm agreed, realizing it was silly to argue that point. “But the thing of it is, most gunfights take place in saloons between a couple of drunks who can hardly stand up, let alone take aim and hit a target.”
“I’m not much of a drinker and I doubt I’ll ever go to a saloon.”
“Oh, sure you will,” Longarm told him. “Western saloons are like its people. Some are good and some are very bad. There’s both kinds in Durango, and there’s nothing wrong with a man having a glass of whiskey or beer once in a while with his friends. Just make sure that you know which places are safe and which are not.”
“How do I do that?”
“You make the right friends in town and they’ll tell you,” Longarm explained.
“You think we’re going to have trouble with that gang?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
“Do you want them to try and rob us so that you can kill or arrest them?”
“No,” Longarm said, realizing that he did not. “If I were alone or with other experienced lawmen, sure. But with you, Miranda, and your pretty young wife, I’d be mostly worried about one of you getting shot.”
“If we do get attacked, they won’t get much of value from Esther and me. I’ll bet that everything we own together isn’t worth but ten or fifteen dollars.”
