Palladin threw up his hands in a gesture of hopelessness. “What other choice would I have?”
“You’d have plenty of choice,” Longarm snapped. “You took an oath to serve and protect.”
“Serve and protect my townsfolk, not some quick-on-the-trigger federal officer who arrives in Durango bearing me a piss pot full of grief.”
Longarm had heard more than enough, and came to his feet. “I think this conversation is over.”
“What is your business in this town?”
“That is none of your business, Palladin. And besides, we’ll be leaving for Cortez just as soon as I can make the arrangements.”
“I like the sound of that. And like I said, I ain’t anxious to get crossways of Luke Goddard. To prevent that, I’ll even help you hire a buggy or some saddle horses so that you and your friends leave within the hour.”
Longarm didn’t like the way this conversation was going. Didn’t like it at all. Time permitting, he would have stayed in Durango and straightened Palladin out. Furthermore, he would have bet money that Old Man Goddard was involved with his sons holding up stage coaches and that he could find evidence to support this theory out at their ranch.
Maybe, after Billy Vail’s assignment was finished, he would return to Durango and pay the Goddards a visit when they least expected it.
“I can make my own travel arrangements,” Longarm told Palladin when he stopped beside his door. “But I’ll tell you this. If word gets out that I’m really a federal marshal, then I’ll know who to blame.”
“Now wait just a damned minute!”
“No,” Longarm said, “you wait. It’s clear that we aren’t going to be friends and I can accept that. But what I won’t accept is you interfering with my job by flapping your mouth and telling people who I really am.”
Palladin was almost livid with anger. “Are you threatening me, Marshal?”
“Yeah,” Longarm answered, “I guess that I am.”
“I could make a lot of trouble for you. You’ve got no friends here. You don’t understand-“
Longarm had been heading out the door, but now he turned and marched back to Palladin, reached over his desk, and yanked the man to his feet. “Don’t ever threaten me with trouble! You do that and I’ll arrest you for obstructing a federal officer, and then I’ll have you behind bars in Denver faster than you can say ‘dammit.’ Is that understood?”
Palladin didn’t understand anything. He was almost as tall as Longarm, and outweighed him by at least fifteen pounds. Furthermore, he was a man accustomed to bullying and intimidating other men.
Longarm gazed into Palladin’s eyes for an instant, and he saw fight rather than fear. Palladin reared back, tearing free of Longarm’s grasp, and then he came charging around his desk, murder written all over his square face.
Palladin threw a straight right at Longarm’s jaw, but missed. Longarm stepped inside and drove a punishing uppercut to the heavier man’s gut. Palladin’s mouth flew open like a fish out of water. Longarm filled that gaping mouth with his knuckles, and Palladin crashed over backward, striking the floor so hard that it shook.
“Get up,” Longarm ordered.
Palladin wiped his bloody mouth and shook his head. “Another time,” he wheezed. “This ain’t settled yet.”
“You’re right about that. When I’m through with the business that I came out here to settle, I’ll be passing back through Durango, and you can bet that I’ll be paying you a visit that you’re not going to enjoy.”
Palladin climbed unsteadily to his feet, holding his gut. He was ashen-faced, and Longarm knew that he was in pain.
“Come back through my town,” Palladin swore, “and you are writing your own death warrant.”
Longarm took a menacing step forward. “Are you saying you’ll kill me?”
“No,” Palladin said, spitting blood on the floor. “But then I’m a man with a lot of friends and favors owed.”
Longarm took a short step forward and dropped the local marshal with a straight right cross to his jaw.
“I’ll be back,” he vowed. “And if you know what is good for you, you’ll be long gone.”
When he rejoined Miranda outside the undertaker’s office, she immediately noticed that his knuckles were bleeding. “What happened!”
“Marshal Palladin and I had a little dispute over a matter of authority,” Longarm told her. “How is Trent holding up?”
“Not well. He’s inside with the undertaker, a man named Otis Palmer. I think Trent could use some help.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Longarm said, going inside.
Otis Palmer was small, nervous, and wore a dirty black suit that had seen far better days. In his fifties, he had a twitch under his right eye and the most delicate hands that Longarm had ever seen on a man.
“Mr. Roe,” the undertaker was saying, “I simply can’t give your wife the kind of funeral you want for eighteen dollars. Now, there is nothing wrong with a pine casket, and we can-“
“You have a problem here?” Longarm asked.
Trent looked to be in a daze, and Longarm could see at once that the young man was near the breaking point. He took Trent’s arm and led him outside, saying, “Stay here with Miranda and I’ll take care of the arrangements.”
“He wants more money than I have left,” Trent said quietly.
