It was like a small settlement, complete with a store, a mess hall, and a square little building with a cross on top of it that Longarm took to be a chapel. A good-sized creek ran past the camp, and perched on the near bank was a sawmill built of wood and tin. Next to the mill was an impressive-looking log cabin with a porch built onto the front of it. Beyond the mess hall were several long, low buildings that Longarm took to be barracks where the loggers slept.
Jared Flint pointed his mount toward the log cabin. Longarm followed, looking at the sawmill and seeing smoke rising from a tin stack on top of the roof. He could hear the chattering roar of a steam engine coming from inside the building, along with the high-pitched whine of a saw. No one was moving around the camp except a bald- headed, gray-aproned cook who was pouring out a bucket of dishwater next to the mess hall, but the sawmill was obviously in operation. The rest of the loggers were higher on the mountain, felling trees and hauling them to the creek so that they could be floated down to the mill.
As Longarm and Flint drew rein in front of the cabin, a woman stepped out onto the porch, taking Longarm by surprise. It wasn't unheard of to find a woman in a logging camp; some of them worked as cooks or washerwomen, and some camps even had schoolmarms to teach the children of married loggers who brought their families to the camp with them. That didn't appear to be the case here, since Longarm hadn't seen a schoolhouse or any smaller cabins where families could stay. The barracks seemed to indicate that all the Mcentire loggers were either single or temporarily batching it.
The woman on the porch was sure something to look at, though. Tall and in her early thirties, Longarm judged, with thick, lustrous dark hair gathered at the back of her head in a loose bun. She wore a simple, dark gray dress that tried but failed in its attempt to conceal the lushness of her figure. Her hazel eyes were alert and intelligent as they looked curiously at Longarm.
'Who is this, Mr. Flint?' she asked in a clear voice that reminded Longarm of those mountain streams such as the one behind the cabin.
Longarm didn't wait for the foreman to introduce him. He tugged on the brim of his snuff-brown Stetson and said, 'Deputy U.S. Marshal Custis Long, ma'am.'
She took a deep breath that lifted the proud thrust of her bosom even more. 'We've been expecting you, Marshal,' she said. 'Are you alone?'
'Yes, ma'am.'
A slight frown creased her forehead. 'I wish you'd brought some more men with you. You're liable to need them.'
'Well, I'll do what I can to help,' Longarm said modestly. 'And you'd be... ?'
'I'm Aurora Mcentire. This is my camp.'
Now it was Longarm's turn to frown. The report he had read in Billy Vail's office had included complaints of trouble from the owner of the lumber operation, A. J. Mcentire. Longarm sure as hell hadn't expected that to turn out to be a woman.
Still, if that was the situation he had to deal with, so be it. He swung down from the saddle and flipped the horse's reins over a hitch rack in front of the cabin. As Longarm stepped up onto the porch, Jared Flint said, 'I'll be getting back to work now, ma'am.' Aurora Mcentire's voice was sharp as she said, 'No, Mr. Flint, I want you to stay while I talk with Marshal Long. You know as much about the trouble we've been having as I do.'
Flint shrugged and dismounted, following Longarm up onto the porch. Aurora turned and led them into the cabin.
The high-ceilinged room in which Longarm found himself was surprisingly well appointed for being in a lumber camp. A thick rug was spread out on the puncheon floor. To the right was a fireplace with an overstuffed divan in front of it, to the left a big hardwood table that evidently served not only for meals but also as a desk for Aurora Mcentire. Papers were spread out on one end of it where a chair was drawn up to the table. A door on the other side of the table led into what were probably Aurora's sleeping quarters. The windows had oilcloth in them instead of glass, but they were covered with fancy curtains anyway.
Aurora gestured at the table and said, 'Have a seat, Marshal Long. You too, Mr. Flint. Would you like a drink, Marshal?'
Longarm smiled. 'Don't reckon you'd have any Maryland rye?'
Aurora returned the smile and shook her head. 'I'm afraid not. I can offer you some brandy, or there's a pot of coffee on the stove.'
'Coffee'll do fine,' Longarm told her. 'Maybe with a dollop of that brandy in it, if it's not too much trouble.'
'No trouble at all,' she assured him. 'Mr. Flint?'
'No, thank you, ma'am,' replied the foreman. He looked as if the very idea of his boss offering him a drink made him uncomfortable, even if she was a woman.
Aurora went to the cast-iron stove in the corner and poured two cups of coffee from the pot. She took a bottle from a cabinet and added a splash of brandy to each cup, then brought them over to the table. Longarm had liked her on sight, and the fact that she took brandy in her coffee made him admire her that much more. She was utterly feminine, yet clearly she didn't go in for the pretenses that a lot of women did. Of course, for a woman to run a lumber camp and be successful at it, she would have to be pretty forthright.
She sipped her coffee and then said, 'In case you're wondering, Marshal, my late husband founded the Mcentire Timber Company. When Angus passed away a couple of years ago, I took over the business.'
'So you're the A. J. Mcentire who got in touch with the Justice Department and asked for help with your troubles here,' said Longarm.
'That's right. I don't hide the fact that I'm a woman, but I don't always advertise it either. In this case, I don't think it would have mattered. The government has a stake in our problems. Our contract to supply lumber for government construction projects involves hundreds of thousands of dollars, and unnecessary delays on delivery cost not only the Mcentire Timber Company, they cost the federal treasury as well.'
'That's why I'm here,' Longarm pointed out. He lifted the cup to his lips. The coffee was black and strong, just the way he liked it, with a little added wallop from the brandy.
Aurora looked down at the table. 'Like I said, I wish they had sent more than one man. No offense, Marshal Long, but it may take quite a bit of manpower to wipe out those troublemaking ranchers.'
