“And more every year,” Billy assured him. “Scientists are describing Mesa Verde, Hovenweep, and some of the other ruins that are scattered all over the Four Corners area as the greatest archaeological sites in America.”
“I see.”
“Do this job well,” Billy said, “and there might be a promotion in store for you this fall.”
“Like you got to a desk job? No, thanks!”
Billy wasn’t offended. Quite the contrary. He just smiled, and then he went back to his desk as Longarm headed for the train depot to get Miranda a ticket to Pueblo. She wouldn’t be all that pleased riding coach either, but their destination was less than a full day’s journey away, and they could easily tolerate the sometimes rough and ready men who frequented the third-class coach cars and who could be a bit uncouth and insulting.
Chapter 3
Longarm and Miranda were a little late getting to the train station, and damned if the third-class coach wasn’t nearly filled with a collection of rough cowboys, miners, and workingmen headed south. Miranda was the only young woman to enter this coach, and although Longarm was not a jealous man, he bristled at the bold and hungry-eyed looks she received as they moved down the aisle searching for a pair of seats together.
Unfortunately, there weren’t any. In fact, there was only one empty seat in the entire coach, and the only reason it was empty was that it rested beside one of the biggest, dirtiest-looking men Longarm had seen in a good while. He must have been a mountain man or a trapper because he was wearing buckskins and a thick black beard. A huge Bowie knife protruded from under a beaded Indian belt. The man stank like a dead animal.
“Oh, the hell with this,” Longarm snapped. “We’ll go find the conductor and change our tickets to first class.”
“What’s the matter?” the mountain man challenged, eyes fixed on Miranda’s ample bosom. “I don’t mind the lady sitting here beside me. Maybe we could have ourselves a little fun, huh, lady?”
“I’d rather sit beside a goat,” Miranda replied.
The mountain man’s eyes blazed with sudden anger. “Well, ain’t you the real uppity little bitch. You ain’t so gawdamn grand! I’ve fucked prettier than you more’n once.”
Longarm slapped the mountain man across the face so hard his lips broke and bled. “Mister, apologize to the lady or prepare to learn some manners.”
The mountain man wiped a big paw across his mouth, saw the blood, and exploded. “You sonofabitch, nobody slaps Abe Tasker and lives to tell about it! I’ll gut you like a fat buck!”
Longarm would have sledged Tasker in the face and maybe ended the fight quick, except that someone pushed Miranda in between them, and by the time he shoved her clear, the mountain man was out of his seat and on his feet with that giant Bowie knife clenched in his fist.
Longarm drew his six-gun and said, “Drop the knife or I’ll drop you in your tracks!”
“No, you won’t,” Tasker said, grabbing Miranda and holding her in front of him as a shield. He placed his knife to Miranda’s throat and laughed meanly. “Drop the gun or I’ll slit her pretty gullet.”
Longarm felt a sudden rivulet of sweat run down his spine. Tasker was clearly a lunatic. He looked as if he might even enjoy killing Miranda.
“All right,” Longarm said, dropping his double-action Colt .44-40 to the floor. “Just turn her loose and we can settle this with our fists.”
Tasker giggled obscenely, then pushed Miranda aside.
“Sorry,” he said, waving the Bowie back and forth, “but I’d rather fight with knives.”
“I don’t have anything but a pocket knife,” Longarm said tightly.
“Too bad,” the mountain man replied, taking a vicious swipe at Longarm’s belly and barely missing.
Longarm had all that he was going to take. Any minute, some fool might decide to try to help him and get himself skewered. The lawman reached for his watch. Its chain, instead of being attached to a watch fob, was affixed to a very mean-looking twin-barreled .44-caliber derringer.
“Your turn,” Longarm said, cocking the derringer. “Drop the knife or I’ll put two bullets through your brisket. And I can’t miss at this range.”
Tasker squinted at the derringer. It was compact, but the double muzzles were plenty big and intimidating. Tasker dropped his Bowie knife and raised his big fists. “You said something about fighting?”
“Custis,” Miranda said, “why don’t you do the whole world a favor and just shoot him? Sure would be the easiest and best thing to do.”
“Shut up, woman!”
In reply, Miranda kicked Tasker in the shin so hard that the mountain man let out a yip of pain. Longarm believed in taking advantage of opportunities, so he punched the man right between the eyes and dropped him in the aisle.
“Miranda, why don’t you take the man’s seat,” he said, “while I escort him off the train since he is unfit to be among civilized company.”
But Tasker wasn’t ready to be “escorted” anywhere. He crawled to his feet, ducked a punch, and charged into Longarm, grabbing him in a crushing bear hug. They fell, but now Tasker was on top, and Longarm took one of his thundering punches, and realized that he might lose consciousness if he took another. Still, he was pinned in the aisle with no room to maneuver. He couldn’t get any leverage in his punch, so he jammed his derringer sideways between their bodies and pulled the trigger.
The explosion was muffled, and the bullet ripped into the floor under a nearby seat just as Longarm had intended. It also burned their flesh, but it made Tasker rear back, and that was all that Longarm needed to break free and unleash a jolting overhand right that landed on Tasker’s nose and broke it with a crunching sound. Longarm jumped up and swarmed all over the man, landing heavy punches that beat him to the floor. When Tasker stopped trying to fight back and his eyes rolled up into his forehead, Longarm grabbed him and dragged him up the aisle, and
