verify who he was air tight. I'm pretty sure he had to be the same Ojibwa who ran off with some white army deserters years ago to stop trains and rob banks for a living. Why don't we get dressed and talk about the wages of sin some more at your place?'
She dimpled sweetly, and allowed she'd like some supper as well as more sinning. Then, as they were getting dressed, she casually asked how come the mean Indian had been gunning for him like that.
Longarm shrugged and said, 'They asked him to, I reckon. I had less luck at the Western Union than here. Reckless as old Chief may have been, he was too slick to visit the telegraph office in the dusky flesh, and his white confederate must have been sending and receiving some innocent-looking code.'
The beautiful blonde innocently asked how Longarm knew the hatchet-faced Indian had a white confederate.
Longarm hauled on his jeans, saying, 'I just told you. Nobody at your Western Union office here in New Ulm remembers anyone at all like Youngwolf, and his Colorado pals must have warned him I was on my way or he wouldn't have come to town to... Hmm, they might have only told him to keep an eye on me whilst they tried to figure just what I knew by whomsoever I met up with.'
He began to button his shirt as he decided, 'Too late to ask him now. My point is that they must have been communicating by wire. It'd take too long by longhand. Not only that, but to keep in touch by wire he'd have either had to ride into town more than your average cowhand could afford or have somebody here in town in cahoots with him, see?'
She didn't, bless her. She asked innocently, 'Why would he have to ride into town to pick up a telegram from Denver? I heard Western Union will deliver one for a modest extra fee.'
He laughed and said he could just picture a crook getting secret telegrams by messenger in a bunkhouse. Then he suddenly stared at her thunderstruck and declared, 'Jesus H. Christ, speaking of dumb bastards, I sure take the cake! For you're right! He wouldn't need much help, or even a slick code, if he'd never been using the Western Union here in New Ulm at all!'
CHAPTER 21
It wasn't too late to ride, but Longarm had other questions to ask there in New Ulm before he did. So he went on home with Viggy for the night.
They met nobody as she smuggled him in the back way from the alley. She'd already told him on that chesterfield that she didn't smoke. So the lingering smell of another brand of tobacco in her otherwise tidy quarters in the carriage-house loft helped Longarm understand how any gal so young could know so many interesting positions.
He hadn't told her he was a virgin either, and he'd already seen she kept her buxom blond body clean and tidy too, so what the hell. And there was a lot to be said for such a comfortable port in a storm with an easy lay who wasn't likely to piss and moan about it when a man just had to get it on down the road.
Screwing, scrubbing, and sweeping seemed to sum up the big blonde's household skills, though. They'd have wound up supping on weak tea, burnt toast, and jam if Longarm hadn't found some buckwheat flour and sorghum molasses in the back of her cupboard. She said a man who could make flapjacks after screwing a gal so fine would make a swell catch for some lucky lady who was ready to settle down.
Fortunately, she didn't seem ready to settle down just yet. She'd read those books by Miss Virginia Woodhull, advising ladies young and old to get on top and never marry up with any skunk who didn't think a woman ought to have the right to vote.
After she'd been on top enough to settle her nerves a spell, she said she didn't mind if he left the lamp lit and sat up to read in bed, as long as he didn't expect her to. But after he'd gone through that bank ledger more than once, taking notes, Viggy rolled over in bed to prop herself up on one bare elbow, a pretty sight, and demand he explain what he was muttering about.
Longarm pointed at an entry with his stub pencil, but she didn't seem that interested in the tight handwriting as he explained, 'That Wabasha Chambrun said he had no notion where that hundred-dollar note he gave Israel Bedford came from, and this far back leastways, he had no account with your bank. But here's an entry saying one of your tellers cashed a thousand-dollar check for one Antelope Chambrun just before Christmas. Miss Tatowiyeh Wachipi, Chambrun's pure Santee wife, must shorten her name when she signs it in Wasichu.'
Viggy shrugged a bare shoulder and said she didn't recall either redskin around her bank all that much. Then she asked how he knew the check they'd cashed for them had anything to do with that hot treasury note.
Longarm smiled gently and replied, 'It couldn't have. The Tyger gang hadn't pulled off that robbery in Fort Collins yet. The point is that the Chambruns seem to be telling the truth about big checks coming their way from other prosperous Indians. Your New Ulm bank had no problems with the out-of-state check, made out to the female or full-blood branch of the Chambrun family by the Pipestone Bonemeal & Fertilizer Company of Omaha, Nebraska.'
Viggy observed she'd heard Pipestone was a place in Minnesota.
Longarm chuckled fondly and agreed. 'Not too far from here, as a matter of fact. Pipestone, Minnesota, is named for the sacred red cliffs where the old-time Santee, amongst others, quarried the red catlanite or pipestone they carved into calumets, or what we tend to call peace pipes. The Indians smoked 'em for all sorts of medicine. I reckon it was only natural for some breed or assimilate going into a profitable business in Omaha to name his new venture after old-timey good medicine. I suspect I passed their trackside operation the last time I was in Omaha. There's a heap of meat-packing going on around there these days, and a smart gent who ain't afraid of hard work and dirty hands can make a heap of wampum on the fringes of meat-packing by disposing of the leftover blood, crud, and bones at a profit.'
Viggy repressed a yawn and asked what on earth grubby redskins in Omaha might have to do with anyone in New Ulm.
He told her he liked to know when folks were fibbing to him or not, and added, 'Your boss, old P.S. Plover, caught the serial number on that later treasury note as it was passing through his bank. So it's unlikely the Chambruns got even one such note from you folk. But I see here you charged 'em one percent, or ten dollars, when you cashed that earlier check from Omaha.'
Viggy nodded innocently and replied, 'Well, of course we did. One percent is about the least any bank charges for cashing a check drawn on another bank for a person with no regular account with them. Would you have us go to that much trouble for nothing at all?'
Longarm said, 'Not hardly. I never said you were bilking check-cashers. On the other hand, ten dollars is a
