glanced over and saw the young man staring into the fire.
Longarm wished that he could give the man some comfort, but he knew that his words would have no impact whatsoever. Trent was probably blaming himself for allowing them both to come to the West, and especially to risk taking the stagecoach to Durango in the face of almost certain danger. Longarm knew that guilt could be a terrible cross to bear. Maybe there would be a preacher in Durango who could offer Trent some comfort after they arrived.
In the morning, they ate quickly, and then Longarm spent a quarter of an hour making a litter out of the stagecoach’s leather curtains and the leather reins that he cut from the dead horses.
“It’s going to be rough,” he told Trent. “But we’ll just take our time and we’ll make it. Lead off, Miranda, and we’ll follow.”
Trying to haul the litter with Esther’s body strapped to it up the steep and difficult Mountainside was a job that Longarm hoped never to repeat. It took them nearly all morning, and they were exhausted by the time they finally made it to the wagon road high above.
Afterward, Longarm tightened saddle cinches. They tied Esther across the back of one saddle, and Charley Blue’s body across another, before they continued on toward Durango. They were all filthy and bedraggled. Longarm was worried about Trent doing something crazy, for the young Easterner did not say even one word and seemed nearly comatose with grief.
“We’ll be in Durango before nightfall,” Longarm said, hoping that that bit of news would cheer them up a little.
It didn’t, and so they rode on until they found a stream where the thirsty horses could drink their fill. There was grass there too, and Longarm tied ropes to the animals and allowed them to graze for an hour before they pushed on.
Late that afternoon, they met a wagon heading for Pueblo. When the driver saw them, he quickly realized that something was terribly wrong.
“We were attacked by the outlaw gang that has been preying on the stagecoaches,” Longarm said.
“And you survived!”
“That’s right.”
“You people look like you’ve been through Hell. Whose bodies are those tied-“
Trent exploded, “Why don’t you just button your gawdamn flapping lip, mister!”
The stranger looked at Trent’s tear-streaked face and said, “Yeah, I’m sorry. I’ll tell ‘em what happened to the stage when I reach Pueblo.”
“Thanks,” Longarm said. “Tell them that there were five outlaws and their bodies are still down in the canyon.”
“I’ll do that. Durango ain’t but a couple of hours farther on,” the driver said as he slapped the lines on the rumps of his horses and drove away.
Longarm studied young Roe. “Are you all right?”
“No,” Trent said, “but I’m not going to go crazy, if that’s what you are worried about.”
“It isn’t,” Longarm lied.
“At least,” Miranda said, “that gang won’t be looting or murdering anyone else.”
“That’s right,” Longarm said, appreciating how Miranda was trying to see the one bright side of this tragic situation.
Chapter 8
When Longarm, Miranda, and Trent Roe rode up the streets of Durango, people came out of the saloons and other shops to stare at them. It was not surprising really, considering their appearance and the fact that they had two bodies tied across saddles.
“The marshal’s office is just up the street,” Longarm said, reining in at the town’s only undertaker. “After we make the arrangements for Charley and Esther, I’ll go pay him a visit and explain what happened to the stage.”
But Longarm had hardly dismounted when the marshal arrived and introduced himself as Seth Palladin, saying, “We expected that your stagecoach ran into trouble when it didn’t arrive on schedule.”
Palladin was a heavyset man in his early thirties with a long flowing mustache, an orange silk tie, starched white shirt, embroidered vest, and fancy boots. He wore an ivory-handled Colt, and appeared far more prosperous than most frontier marshals. Longarm figured that the man had probably come from a prominent local family, or else had married into one.
“Then I’m surprised that you didn’t send out a posse to investigate,” Longarm said, for he had expected them to be met long before they reached Durango.
Palladin didn’t like that remark, and his mustache actually bristled. “Well,” he huffed, “we’d have come on out, but I’ve got this here town to protect. These people are the ones that pay my salary, not the stage line.”
“All the same,” Longarm said, “there might have been some of your voters aboard that stage and you are the authority in this town.”
Palladin’s jaw muscles corded. It seemed to Longarm that the man was acutely aware of the gathering crowd that was watching how he handled this trouble.
“Mister,” Palladin said, “I don’t know who in the hell you think you are to be talking to me that way, but we need to step into my office and have a private conversation. There are some things that you have a crying need to be educated about.”
“That suits me just fine,” Longarm replied. He turned to Miranda. “My dear, why don’t you help Trent out and I’ll be back before long.”
