strong land breeze was blowing from the west. It smelled of mesquite and was far from frigid. But at least it was dry and brisk enough to cool his face and sweat-soaked shirt as he strolled forward along the deserted portside deck. The staterooms he passed were built back to back, save for the few facing a companionway or warped into odder shapes by funnels, air-shafts, and ladderways. So most of them opened out to the promenade deck with ventilation jalousies built into lower door panels as well as their port shutters. That was what they called windows on a boat, whether they looked like portholes or not. So you could hear things going on inside as you passed many a stateroom, most by this time dark. Victorian folks didn't go to sleep with the chickens because of religious notions. Oil lamps gave off a lot of heat as they shed piss-poor light for reading. Hence, as in the case of the chickens, most Anglo-Americans of the era were early to bed and early to rise simply so they could see what they were doing. The Mexican folks on both sides of the border were the night owls. Not as many were interested in reading, and after that it was just too hot down this way during Yanqui business hours. So the 'lazy Mex' broke his day up into short hard stints from the wee small hours to the heat of late morning, dozed off in the shade most of the afternoon, and often put in another eight or ten hours of work or play in the cool shades of evening.
Lenore Colbert had already told him she was a Yanqui gal. So he wasn't surprised to see she'd trimmed her lamp and likely turned in by the time he passed his old stateroom. He was tempted to pause for a few puffs on his smoke and see if he could hear her snoring, jerking off in bed, or whatever. But he never did. It made a man wistful enough to picture a pretty gal alone in bed, either decorous under the sheets, or spread-eagled atop them buck naked.
He could guess how the couple two staterooms up were most likely dressed for bed as he passed their dark shutters and heard a female voice cry out, 'Ooh, that feels wicked and I know I'll surely burn in Hades when I die, but right now I want your tongue even deeper!'
Longarm chuckled silently and moved on, muttering, 'Aw, with any luck all those French saints will put in a good word for you, ma'am. Those French are a caution for eating pussy and turning into saints, and there's nothing about that in the Ten Commandments to begin with. The sinners in Sodom wanted to screw boy angels in the ass. I never read what the folk in Gomorrah, Admah, and Zeboiim were up to. The Good Book just don't say. But it must have been worse than they do in Dodge when the herds are in town because Dodge and even Frisco are still there, praise the Lord.'
Others along the way seemed to be just screwing, snoring, or in one case arguing in bed about whether they could afford a new carpet in the front parlor. Then he passed the dining salon, shut for the night, and finally he was standing alone in the bows, where the combined air movements made him feel so good he wondered why nobody else was standing there with him. Then, reflecting on the night watch above him on the Texas deck, the black gang down below in the engine room, and most of the folks in the staterooms being the type to call ports on a steamer windows, he realized it only stood to reason a more experienced traveler would get to hog such comfort as there was aboard this tub on such a muggy night.
He finished his smoke, tossed the lit stub over the side to admire its firefly dive to the inky gulf waters, and resisted the temptation to light another. He'd been trying to cut down on tobacco. For some reason he found it tougher than refusing another drink after his legs warned him he'd had enough, or leaving a gal's skirts alone after she'd warned him she was married or, even more dangerous, a maiden pure. Yet anyone could see a man got more pleasure out of strong liquor or weak-willed women than tobacco had ever offered. So why in tarnation did a man on such a modest salary have to spend a whole nickel to smoke only three damned cheroots that neither made him feel like singing or coming?
On the other hand, he was already uncomfortable enough as he leaned on the rail in sweaty duds with half a hard-on. So he lit up some more, muttering, 'Just this last one before we turn in for at least a few hours' sleep. Don't want folks thinking a drunk might be coming down the gangplank at 'em come morning.'
As anyone who's ever tried to cut down on smoking knows, a smoke seems to burn down faster as soon as you tell it you don't mean to have another in the near future. So maybe a quarter hour later he watched that one diving to the sea as he reached absently for a third, another part of him pointing out, What the hell, may as well spend the whole nickel before we turn in.'
But he shook his head firmly and told himself, 'A man's word is a man's word. Who in Creation is a man supposed to trust if he breaks his damned word to his damned self?'
He toughed it out another ten minutes or so, then found himself on the move again, aimed for Lenore's starboard stateroom but drifting back along the port side, to windward, if only to postpone the stagnant heat to seaward by taking the long route round the stern.
The moon was shining on the far side. So Longarm moved aft along the darker deck as no more than an inky blur, thanks to passing on that third smoke. Hence they didn't spot him either as they kicked in a stateroom door further down And charged in shooting.
Longarm drew his own side arm and advanced on the confusion, getting there just as two dark blurs were backing out of his original stateroom through their own cloud of gunsmoke. So he demanded they freeze and fired almost in the same moment when neither did. He hit the nearest one and suspected he knew who it was as his target dropped faster than its big hat. He put another round in the son of a bitch before pegging his fifth and last shot at the sound of the other one's thudding boot heels. Then he crouched just inside the open doorway, reloading six in the wheel as he bawled loudly, 'Everybody stay put inside in the name of the law!'
Then he asked more softly, 'Are you all right, Miss Lenore?'
He got no reply as he sprang back up to chase after the one called Godwynn. Halfway back to the stern he heard a mighty splash, and nobody seemed on deck ahead of him as he rounded the last corner. So he swung back to peer back along the barely visible wake in the moonlight, muttering, 'I hope there's plenty of sharks trailing this vessel if that was you I just heard, you bastard!'
By the time he got back to his shot-up stateroom the smoke had cleared and there were others out on deck despite his command to stay inside their rooms. He recognized the white uniform of the purser in the dim light and called out, 'Deputy Long here. I reckon you noticed that gunplay just now. I'd be obliged if you'd have a look at the one on the deck betwixt us whilst I see about somebody nicer I was trying to do a favor for!'
He struck a match as he stepped inside. The small space still reeked of the brimstone breath of six-guns. He lit a wall fixture, and felt sorry he'd done so as he saw what lay atop the sheets of the upper berth. Lenore Colbert had taken his advice about flopping buck naked in such ventilation as might get through those jalousies near the head of the berth. So you could see every bullet hole in her willowy naked body, and they'd sure put enough in her. But she was bleeding too much to be sincerely dead. So he holstered his gun to move over to her, snatching up some bedding to rip into white bandages as he wondered, heartsick, where to start.
She was bleeding hardest from a wound under one shapely breast. He shoved a twist of cotton sheeting into it before he commenced an attempt to wrap a longer strip around her chest. A gal that skinny lifted easy and he tried to move her gently. But she moaned and said, 'You're hurting me. What happened? Is that you, Custis?'
He said, 'It is. You've been shot. I got one of 'em and it looks as if the other one dove overboard. Hold still and let me knot this dressing secure till we can find you a sawbones.'
