“Well, couldn’t they be?” Longarm asked with a disarming smile. “I mean, has anyone seen their credentials?”
“No,” Jenny said, “I suppose not. But when they first arrived, I understand they had some official papers. I think they showed them to a few people just to establish their identities. And besides, they are obviously scientists.”
“How do you know that?” Miranda asked.
“People who have visited their camp have seen their books and sketches. Their measuring and excavation devices and tools. They are far more sophisticated than the Wetherills or anyone else who has been up there working.”
“I see,” Longarm said, not seeing at all.
To his way of thinking, the pair could be legitimate scientists working for a very illegitimate consortium of thieves. Scientists, after all, were only human beings like everyone else. They liked money too. They could easily be scientists who had been corrupted by ill-gained gains.
They talked for almost an hour after the meal, and Longarm pretty much learned all that he could learn about Mesa Verde and the two supposed archaeologists from Jenny McAllister. After that, they excused themselves and soon retired upstairs to their room. “I’ll go out and see what I can learn in the saloons,” Longarm said.
“Be very careful.”
“I’ve nothing to worry about,” Longarm assured her. “I’m just a fella who is lucky enough to have married a beautiful woman who also enjoys the outdoors and ancient Indian history. That’s it.”
“What if someone from your past recognizes you and remembers that you are a United States marshal?”
“That is a possibility,” Longarm admitted. “But then again, it will be dim in those saloons, and I mostly keep my mouth shut and my hat pulled down low. Given my size, most folks just kind of give me a wide berth.”
“I see.” Miranda kissed his mouth. “Please don’t stay out too late. I’ll be waiting for you.”
“Go to sleep, Miranda. I’ll wake you up when I return.”
“Promise?”
“Yes, I promise.”
“All right then. And I suppose that you’ll want to climb onto me and do it again, huh?”
“Probably. Is that all right?”
“I’d be disappointed and worried if you didn’t,” she told him as she began to undress and get ready for bed.
Longarm knew that if he stayed and watched, he would start undressing too. So he kissed Miranda good night and went out on the town to see if he could find out any more about the archaeologists and the ancient Indian ruins.
Chapter 10
Longarm went out that evening expecting that he would not be gone more than an hour or two. After all, there were only three saloons in all of Cortez, and none of them could be that crowded. Still, as he leisurely strolled down the boardwalk, he was surprised that there were so many cowboys and other workingmen moving about.
“What day is it?” he asked a middle-aged and smallish cowboy who was talking to a large, bib-wearing miner.
“Why, it’s Saturday and payday for most of us,” the cowboy said. “You new in town?”
“I am,” Longarm replied, pulling out and lighting a cheroot. “I’m from Denver.”
“You lookin’ for work?” the miner asked. “‘Cause you’re big enough that you wouldn’t have any trouble finding it at one of the mines.”
“No,” Longarm said, “I’m here on my honeymoon. My wife and I have always wanted to see the Mesa Verde cliff dwellings, and that’s why we came to Cortez.”
“Damn,” the cowboy said, shaking his head, “if I was just married, the last place on this green earth that I’d want to take my bride would be up there among all them spooks. What you want to do that for? Nothin’ but old bones and pots and maybe some Indian ghosts up in that country.”
“Well,” Longarm said without attempting to hide his amusement at this evaluation, “we collect old Indian artifacts and have an interest in those kinds of things.”
“That’s sure hard to figure,” the miner said, his chin jutting out a moment before he dragged a pint of whiskey out of his bib overalls. “Stranger, do you know what my personal theory is about them cliff dwellings and all them dusty old ruins and the dumb Indians who built ‘em?”
“No,” Longarm answered, “but I have a feeling that I’m about to learn it.” The miner cleared his throat and loudly pronounced, “A dead Injun … is a dead Injun … is a dead Injun.”
“Well,” Longarm said, unable to hide his sarcasm, “that certainly is profound.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind.” Longarm started to push past the miner, but the man grabbed his arm. “Hey,” the miner said, “was you just makin’ fun of me?”
“Nope.”
“Sure you was! I know when some uppity sumbitch is tweakin’ my nose.”
“Getting it ‘tweaked’ is better than getting it busted,” Longarm said with a cold smile. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
