rather arrogant attitude. So he turned and started across the street toward the Concord Hotel. The next thing he knew, he heard the blast of a rifle and felt a slug whip past his cheek. Longarm threw himself down, rolled, and came up with his gun in his hand. He looked for a target, but there was none. The street was empty. The big man named John had vanished, but then Longarm wasn’t a bit sure that he had been the one that had opened fire. He was even less sure when a wooden shingle from a rooftop across the street fell to the sidewalk.
Longarm dashed across the street and ran down the dark corridor between the buildings, then skidded to a halt in a dark alley. He heard the pounding of boots, and took off after them, but crashed blindly into an old rain barrel, knocking it over and landing in mud.
“Dammit!” he raged, scrambling to his feet, then groping his way back out onto the main street. “Dammit anyway!”
When he got back to his hotel room Longarm knew that he was filthy, and not wanting to get the bed or Miranda dirty, he returned to the lobby and asked a sleepy night clerk to send up some hot bath-water.
“The Chinamen have gone for the night and I’m afraid that bath time is over. However, I will personally deliver you a couple of pails of room-temperature water.”
“Just give them to me now.”
“What happened?” the clerk asked. “How did you-“
“Don’t even ask.”
“I heard gunfire. Was someone killed?”
“Almost.”
Longarm took the water upstairs and washed by candlelight. Then he climbed into bed. Miranda was sound asleep, and although he was exhausted, it took him a good hour to fall asleep. Mostly because he was wondering who in the deuce had tried to ambush and kill him … and why?
Someone has recognized me and knows that I’m a federal marshal. Someone who wants me dead.
There could be no other possible explanation, and that meant that he had lost the element of surprise. That was bad. Very bad indeed.
Chapter 11
“Custis, what happened to your clothes?” Miranda asked him the following morning when they awakened. “Did you get drunk and fall over into a horse’s watering trough?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Well, then, did you try to drink a pail of beer?”
Longarm saw no point in telling Miranda that he had nearly been ambushed. It would only upset her for no good reason. So he just laughed and kissed her, saying, “There are some pretty wild saloons in this town.”
“What did you find out?”
He told her everything he had learned, even about Candice Mason and the feeling by most locals that the killings on Mesa Verde had been committed by renegade Ute Indians.
“Do you believe that?” Miranda asked him.
“I don’t know,” Longarm admitted. “It’s possible. I know that Indian peoples are very touchy about their ancestors and their old burial grounds—just as we would be if someone tried to dig up our grandfather or grandmother. So, it could be that the Utes are behind the killings, but I’d say that the odds are definitely against that.”
“Why?”
“From what I could learn, the bodies were never found. If you were trying to warn the whites to stay out of your ancestors’ homes and burial grounds, wouldn’t you leave the bodies for everyone to see? And another thing, Indians aren’t generally that devious. They are expert at stealing horses, but when it comes to killing, generally they are pretty straightforward.”
“So what do we do now?”
“Well,” Longarm said, “we need to talk to Matt Horn about guiding us up to the ruins so I can meet those archaeologists and try and figure out if they are legitimate or if their work is just a cover for the grave robbers. So let’s get dressed and get busy.”
They dressed and went downstairs for the breakfast meeting with Matt Horn. The man was in his early thirties, handsome and rugged-looking, with big hands, a lantern jaw, and penetrating blue eyes. Longarm liked and trusted him immediately, and they quickly came to terms about their trip up to the Mesa Verde ruins.
“It’s a two-day ride each way,” Matt told them. “I mean, you could make it in one day, but it would be rough. My brother says that you have two good horses and a burro.”
“That’s right.”
“Fine with me,” Matt said. “I’ll pack everything we need on my own animals and we can leave whenever you say.”
“How about we go on Tuesday,” Longarm told him. “I’ve some matters that I want to attend to.”
“That suits me just fine,” Matt said. “I heard a rumor that you were involved in some kind of shooting last night. Is that true?”
Miranda’s eyes widened. “Custis? Is that true?”
“I guess I should have told you,” Longarm said. “But yes, someone did take a shot at me.”
“Who would do a thing like that?” Matt asked.
“I have no idea,” Longarm replied, avoiding Miranda’s troubled gaze. “But the most likely explanation is that it
