was unfortunate enough to try to rob him and tomorrow’s southbound stage.
The room was as clean as promised and the bath-water was hot. Longarm luxuriated, soaking his travel-weary bones in the tub for nearly an hour before he dried off and climbed into a fresh set of clothes.
He was hungry and so he rang the little bell on the desk. When Ruby appeared, he said, “Where do you suggest I eat?”
“Majestic Hotel has a good dining room. They serve pretty good steaks.”
Place looks dirty to me.”
“Oh, it is,” Ruby admitted, “but the food is okay. Then again, Antonio’s is good for Mexican food and Charley’s Platter isn’t all bad, if you have a cast-iron stomach.”
“I guess I’ll try the Majestic’s dining room,” Longarm said. “Right after I visit the gunsmith and see if I can’t buy a good rifle or shotgun.”
“He’s got what you need,” Ruby promised. She reached down under the counter and pulled out an old but serviceable two-shot .38 caliber derringer. “I bought this little honey from Sherman for just ten dollars.”
“Good deal.”
“Well, I haven’t ever had to use it,” Ruby said. “Had to wave it in one fella’s face and that was enough to make him decide he ought to pay his rooming bill and get the dickens out of my sight.”
“I’m sure it was. Can you hit anything?”
Ruby grinned. “Mister, where you stand right now, I could blow your gizzard out.”
“I suspect that you could.”
“I’ve got a double-barrel shotgun too. Keep it right behind that back door. It’s got a barrel as big around as a sweet potato, and there’s no doubt it would blow Hank Bass’s damned head off.”
“Does he stay here?”
“Not anymore, he don’t. Used to. But then, that was when he still had some sense and manners. No, sir, the last time he entered this hotel, I grabbed that shotgun, pointed it at his ugly face, and cocked back both hammers.”
Longarm raised his eyebrows. “And what happened then?”
“Bass decided to take his business to the Majestic or to the whorehouse, I guess. But he and his boys never came back here, and I don’t miss their blood money.”
The woman clucked her tongue. “Want to see my shotgun?”
“Maybe another time,” Longarm said, heading for the street.
“I’ll bet you’re a railroad boss! That’s what you are! Admit it!”
Ruby called.
Longarm had to grin as he strode two doors down and entered the gun shop. Its proprietor, Sherman Hoskins, was a large man with droopy red eyes and a battered face. He was probably in his fifties but looked ten years older. His nose was a red, venous bulb, but his eyes were clear. Longarm pegged Sherman as someone who’d drunk himself into the gutter but then saw the light and pulled himself back from the brink of destruction.
“Howdy,” Longarm said to the gunsmith. “I need a rifle or maybe a shotgun.”
“Why don’t you buy both?” the big man suggested.
“I might do that, if I see what I like and hear a good price,” Longarm said, gazing around at the arsenal that Sherman had assembled and placed in gun racks and on pistol pegs.
Longarm took his time checking out the weapons. There was a fine old twelve-gauge double-barreled shotgun made in Germany that he fell in love with but could not really afford. At least, not until he received his expense money from Denver. So he chose a Model center fire 1873 Winchester rifle caliber .44-40 with a skillfully repaired stock.
“Need ammunition?” Sherman asked.
“A couple boxes of shells.”
“You got ‘em. Where you come from, mister?”
“Denver.”
“Where you headed?”
“Prescott.”
“Then you really ought to buy this shotgun.”
“Can’t afford it or I would,” Longarm replied. “Maybe on the way back through town.”
“Sure,” the gunsmith said without enthusiasm. “But I tell you what, if you need a shotgun, I have one in the back room that I can let you have for a measly eight dollars.”
“Eight dollars! What kind of a weapon can you sell me that cheap?”
“It’s an old double-barrel, ten-gauge. It’ll knock you on your ass and you’ll think that you’ve been kicked by a mule, but after it goes off, there won’t be nothing standing in the general direction that you pointed.”
“Let me see it.”
Sherman disappeared for a moment, then returned with the ugly old shotgun. It was scarred and it was heavy, but Longarm could tell the minute that he broke it open that the weapon was in good firing condition.
