“Are you sure?” Miranda had not missed the anger in Palladin’s voice and looked concerned. “Maybe I should-“
“Ma’am,” the marshal said, “who are you?”
“She’s my wife,” Longarm said in a flat, hard voice. “And I’ll speak for her. This whole business has been very upsetting. I’m sure you understand.”
“Follow me,” Palladin commanded, tipping his hat to Miranda and then wheeling around to head for his office.
“I already dislike that man,” Miranda whispered to Longarm before he left. “Haven’t we had enough trouble without having to deal with someone who thinks all this might have happened just so that you can show him up?”
“I’ve dealt with his kind plenty often,” Longarm answered, “and I know how to handle him. Just stay with Trent, and I’ll get Marshal Palladin set straight.”
Longarm had to really stretch his legs in order to catch up with the marshal. The man was angry and moving fast.
“Close the door behind you,” Palladin ordered after they had entered his office, “and then have a seat across from my desk. I want to know every damned detail from start to finish, and don’t leave anything out because it may be important to my investigation.”
“Have you got an election coming up soon?” Longarm asked, easing into a rickety chair of his own choosing.
“Dammit!” Palladin shouted. “You’re starting to get under my skin.”
“Look,” Longarm said, curbing his own temper, why don’t we just start over and let me explain that I’m-“
“I’ll ask the damned questions! You answer the questions! Is that plain enough?”
Longarm had heard enough. He reached into his pocket and drew out his United States deputy marshal’s badge, then tossed it on the lawman’s desk. “Is that plain enough for you, Marshal Palladin?” he demanded in a hard voice.
The transformation in Palladin was immediate and remarkable. “Well, why the hell didn’t you say right off that you were a federal officer instead of letting me think that you were just someone passing through who had the bad luck to get on the wrong stagecoach?”
“You didn’t give me a chance to explain, and I didn’t want to tell the whole damn town. I’m here incognito,” Longarm said. “I’ve been sent on official business and I would prefer that my real identity be kept a secret.”
Palladin snorted with derision. “Well, that’s going to be a hell of a neat trick, considering that you announced yourself with two dead bodies.”
“Look,” Longarm said, fighting to preserve his composure. “We were attacked about twenty miles east of town yesterday afternoon. There were five in the gang and they ambushed and killed our driver, Charley Blue.”
“I never liked Charley.”
Longarm ignored the remark and kept on talking. “Our runaway coach went over the side of a mountain, and it was a miracle that we were not all crushed. As it was, a very fine woman, Esther Roe, died from her injuries. That young man you saw with us is her husband Trent. He has been hired by your local newspaper.”
Palladin made a face. “Hell, he don’t look old enough to be taking on a job like that! I don’t suppose that anyone bothered to tell him what happened to our last reporter, who was just about as wet behind the ears.”
“Trent knows that story,” Longarm said, “and it would be nice if you’d try to put yourself in his position. He’s just lost his wife and he’s pretty much in shock. But I think if people will give him a little time, he’ll snap out of it and make a fine reporter. I can vouch for the fact that young Trent Roe has character.”
“To be real honest,” Palladin said, waving his big hand, “I don’t care one damned way or the other what happens to him. But I do care about getting to the bottom of this ambush and stage holdup.”
“Good! I’m delighted to hear that, because the stage and all five of the outlaws who waylaid it are still resting at the bottom of the gorge where we landed. I suggest you form a posse that will double as a burial party and go see what happened for yourself.”
Palladin didn’t seem very keen on that idea. He frowned, then rolled a cigarette. After making a show of lighting it and blowing a big smoke ring overhead, he kicked his feet up on his desk and said, “I’ll send out a couple of boys to bury `@364’ them outlaws where they lay and check out your story.”
Longarm ignored the insult. “Two of the outlaws were brothers. One was named George Goddard and his brother was named Jeff. Do you know them?”
“Sure! Their old man, Luke Goddard, owns a little spread up in Six Mile Canyon just about twelve miles southwest of here. He’s a small-time cattle rustler and a wild bastard when he gets drunk and decides to raise hell. The whole family is a tough bunch, and I’ve been at odds with them ever since I took office. Clyde, one of the clan, actually campaigned against me trying to get my job, if you can believe that.”
“It would not have been the first time that an outlaw family tried to buy into legitimacy by winning an electoral office. I think that you and I ought to ride out there and have a talk with the Goddard family. Better that they hear the news of it from us than from someone else.”
“Luke will go crazy when we tell him you shot two of his favorite sons. If I were you, Marshal, I’d grab that Eastern kid and make fast tracks out of Durango before the Goddard clan hears the news and comes looking for you.”
“I don’t run,” Longarm said. “I never run.”
“Then you are likely to get shot.”
Longarm’s eyebrows lifted in question. “Am I to understand that you’d just step aside and allow that to happen?”
