man had tried to give hot coffee to his horse. When he’d finally asked about it, the young deputy had said, “Why, hell, yes. That’s the way I take it. What’d you want me to do, saucer and blow it fer him?”
As Longarm finally set out, both horses were feeling lively from the cold night weather. He figured they’d have different thoughts once the sun began its work. He’d saddled the smaller horse, a black with two white stocking feet. It was not quite four o’clock when he got them headed toward the southwest, steering by different stars he knew but didn’t know the names of. The only one he could ever recall was the North Star.
By the time dawn arrived, he didn’t know how far they’d come—maybe ten miles—but the little black was surprising him by his endurance. He’d expected the horse to play out fairly quickly, but the animal moved right along. Still, to be certain and to play it safe, he switched horses about seven o’clock and rode the roan the rest of the way into Benson.
It was a slow trip. It took them six hours to make what he guessed was about twenty-five miles. Still, he arrived with both horses.
Benson was an ugly little weatherbeaten town with a population of around two thousand and five times as many saloons as churches. Half the town appeared to be Mexican, and there was only one discernible street, though there were wagon-track trails leading off in every direction. The downtown buildings were mostly frame, looking worn and colorless as a result of the sun and the sand and the wind. Longarm had been conscious that the land was descending gradually all the way from the line cabin. By the time he reached the border at Douglas, it should have dropped two or three thousand feet in elevation. It made for easier breathing by both man and beast.
He rode into the town on the main street, noting with satisfaction that they had at least two cafes. There was also a ramshackle hotel and a few boardinghouses and, he was glad to see, a livery stable. Most of the residences, either in town or on the outskirts looked to be adobe, with only the bigger ones being constructed of lumber or brick. He turned in at the livery stable and had both horses seen to. He was desperate to get himself to a cafe and get some food in his own belly, but he stayed at the stable and supervised the graining of his horses. He wanted to make sure the horses got their fill, but he didn’t want them eating too much at one time. Even though he was into Benson early enough to rest up and then push on, he saw no real reason for hurry. Shaw was where he was going if that was where he was going. Hurry now was pointless. He and the horses could both use a rest before he pushed on for the last fifty miles to Douglas. He had harbored some hope that there was a railroad line to Douglas, but that was not the case. There was an east-west track through town, but not one running north-south. A train went west to Tucson and east into New Mexico, but nothing was going where he wanted to go.
When he was satisfied his horses had been attended to, he took himself down to the nearest cafe and ordered steak and eggs. The steak was stringy and tough, and the eggs weren’t cooked the way he liked them, with the yokes liquid, but he cleaned his plate and then ordered the same thing again. While he waited, he ate a half a dozen biscuits with butter and honey and drank three cups of coffee, putting as much sugar in it as he liked.
Finally, feeling as if he had regained some lost ground, he left the cafe and went looking for the sheriff’s office. The sheriff, an older, grizzled man with a drooping mustache, stared at him in some amazement.
He said, “Marshal, do I hear you right? You are askin’ me if I seen a stranger, a white man, passin’ through who woulda been ridin’ one horse an’ leadin’ a extry? That right?”
Longarm nodded.
The sheriff leaned back in his chair. “Not more’n half a dozen. “Less he was wearin’ spangles or pink tights, I can’t he’p you a bit. And no, ‘bout the other question, I don’t know no Jack Shaw. Heered of him, but never met the sucker, I’m right glad to say.”
Longarm thanked the sheriff, and then went down and got a room at the run-down-looking hotel. He was going to have a sleep in a real bed even if it didn’t amount to much more than a nap.
After that he went looking around the livery stable to see what kind of horses they had for sale. He didn’t see anything that looked much better than what he had. The man at the livery stable told him there was a horse trader out a mile, but Longarm decided he’d save that for later.
Right then he wanted a drink and he wanted it in a glass and in a saloon. He also wanted a couple of beers to go with it. He wanted to sit in a cool, dim saloon for about two hours and have a few quiet drinks and rest his spirit as best he could. It had been a hard assignment that had taken longer than he’d thought, and was not having anywhere near as good a result as he’d expected.
He stopped in at a general mercantile store and considered buying another rifle. In the end all he purchased was a box of cartridges for his pistol. Jack Shaw had his rifle, and he intended on getting it back. He was used to that rifle, and it was a weapon that had seen him through some tight places. He was damned if he was going to lay out forty-five dollars for another one when his was only half a hundred miles from him. Besides, he didn’t think the showdown with Shaw was going to take place at long range. He wanted the man alive, and that didn’t call for rifle work. What he wanted the most was to get close enough to get his hands on Shaw. The man had caused him considerable trouble, and he had every intention of beating the billy blue hell out of him.
Longarm went to bed at about two o’clock in the afternoon, and slept until eight that night. He got up and ate a big supper at the same cafe, and then came back and went to sleep again, and slept until a little after one in the morning. Sitting, yawning, and still groggy, he forced himself to his feet and went sleepily down to the livery stable, his saddlebags over his shoulder. He woke the night man, who helped him rig up, and then was on his way by two o’clock in the morning. He would have at least five hours of cool traveling during the night before the blazing sun got up enough to do real damage.
Fortunately, there was a stage and wagon road to Douglas, so he didn’t have to go cross-country over the rough, barren terrain which seemed capable only of supporting sand and rocks and where every growing thing seemed compelled to armor itself in stickers or thorns.
He was riding the roan and leading the little black. He had not been satisfied with any trade he could make, either with the quality of the horseflesh or the price of the animal. In the end he’d decided to try to make it on the two he had left. Both seemed to have benefitted by the day of rest and the feed.
It wasn’t as cold as it had been up on the high prairie. Still, Longarm could see his breath and the breath of the horses as he left the dark town behind and set out on his trip.
He figured to travel for six hours and then look for a place to lay up during the hottest part of the day. After that, if the horses were up to it, he intended to push on for Douglas, hoping to arrive sometime in the early night hours. The biggest problem was that there was no water on the way. He was carrying enough for himself, of course, but the horses would have to make it through again dry. As weakened as they were, it was not a situation he much relished. The livery man had said he might get lucky and run across a freighter who’d have a barrel of water for his own stock and who might let Longarm refresh his stock for a price. Other than that, he’d found no way to carry water that wouldn’t defeat its own purpose by being more of a load than it was worth. Most riders heading to Douglas were riding fresh, rested, and well-fed animals who were strong enough for the task, and the travelers
