wagon trace, all four covered entrances faced due east.
Mexicans playing Kiowa wouldn't have been brought up in any sort of Indian shelter facing any direction. Longarm knew that despite the obvious Indian ancestry of many a Mexican, Spanish notions of orderly living had produced a sort of Papist Pueblo culture, with the faith and superstitions of the Spanish peasant plastered over the tortillas and red peppers contributed by Aztec, Chihuahua, and such. Mestizo or even pure Indio Mexicans started out with the same 'dobe bricks as, say, a Zuni from New Mexico, but after that they had all their front doors facing the street, no matter where the sun might rise in the morning.
He nodded at the sentry lounging by the gate and rode on through, muttering, 'Nobody in that gang ever pitched a tipi around real Horse Indians. They'd have only had to do it once before the kids laughed at them and called them total assholes. If I knew better, from just my own friendly visits, it's a safe bet those rascals learned about the Indian Police and Black Leggings Lodge from Ned Buntline's Buffalo Bill Magazine!'
As he crossed the churned-up muddy parade Longarm warned himself not to chase moonbeams further than they might be shining. That one slicker calling his fool self Sergeant Black Sheep hadn't had a Mexican accent and he'd seemed at ease with police routine, whether he'd ever been sworn in as a lawman or not.
Longarm asked Gray Skies, 'How do you feel about an American crook of Mex descent who spent some time on a small-town force or, hell, did some time in jail!'
When his mount failed to answer, Longarm insisted, 'Anyone serving more than thirty days on a vagrancy conviction would pick up the way real copper badges walk and talk. That one could even be a breed. Only the one who called for water in Spanish has to have been a Mex for certain.'
By this time they'd made it to the stables, where a remount noncom he'd talked to earlier was coming out the open end to greet them. The soldier's Class B uniform for the day showed he only supervised the mucking out of the stalls inside. So Longarm didn't offer him any reins as he dismounted, saying, 'Good ponies you boys loaned me. I noticed a whole shit-house of riders just left from here a short while ago.'
The two-striper nodded and replied, 'You noticed right, and the old man was sort of pissed that you hadn't made it back yet. Him and the First Battalion just rode out to track down them painted Kiowa.'
Longarm sighed and said, 'Aw, shit, I'd best switch this saddle and bridle to that bay I rode in on and see if I can catch up with Colonel Howard before he hurts somebody, or vice versa! They took the post road north, right?'
The man they'd left behind nodded and said, 'Headed up Anadarko way. Somebody said something about them wild Indians crossing the post road or following it one way or the other. They never came this way. The agency guns around Anadarko are forted up and ready for the red rascals, of course. The army and the B.I.A. have been burning up the wires, trying to figure which way the rascals went.'
Longarm started to lead the two jaded ponies inside as the remount man tagged along, volunteering, 'That Colorado pal of yours is with the column driving a buckboard.'
Longarm handed the reins to another remount man dressed in faded blue fatigues as he asked with a puzzled frown, 'Pal of mine, you say?'
The noncom said, 'A Mr. Homy-something. Said he'd driven all the way up from Spanish Flats looking for you.'
Longarm knew it was useless to hope. But he still made sure they were talking about Attila Homagy, from Trinidad, Colorado, before he decided, 'I might not ride after that column just yet. Got to send me some telegrams first. Where might I find your signal officer at this hour pard?'
The army regular looked awkward and suggested, 'You might find the liaison office less busy, Deputy Long. They got their own telegraph setup, and with Agent Ryan over by Fort Smith, his breed clerk can't have all that much to do.
Longarm didn't ask whose wife the signal officer might be with as so much of the outfit rode off to glory. But that reminded him of the other night and so, seeing the enlisted men always knew, he asked what the colonel had decided about those two officers who'd been fighting in the hall at the hostel.
The remount man grinned lewdly and said, 'Long gone. Colonel Howard rides with fairly easygoing reins, but he won't put up with downright stupid. Both officers were transferred out the next morning, one to Fort Douglas in Mormon Country and the other down to Fort Apache. We all felt the sassy wife on her way to Fort Apache got off lucky, once she'd been caught with the regimental Romeo.'
Longarm nodded and agreed it seemed rough on the innocent wife of that Romeo.
The remount man nodded, but said, 'That's how come he was only sent to Fort Douglas, despite his wayward dong. The colonel's lady, Miss Elvira, said they had to consider the innocent victim of the untidy triangle. Fort Douglas ain't much worse than here for the wives, and her horny husband deserves the slow rate of promotion over yonder in the Great Basin.'
Longarm didn't ask how they'd learned this much tending to the regimental riding stock. He knew senior-grade officers rated lots of household help, and he hadn't even had to serve breakfast to the older couple himself to learn old Elvira tended to call the shots about social matters on or about this post.
He agreed she seemed an understanding old gal, and left the two army ponies in the care of the army as he ducked out and circled the parade the less muddy way until he came to Fred Ryan's liaison office near the Headquarters and Headquarters building. He'd never figured out why the army felt you ought to say 'Headquarters' twice. But he didn't really care.
Finding the door of the B.I.A.'s more modest doghouse unlocked, he went inside, where a baby-faced breed wearing a white shirt and shoestring tie looked up from a desk behind the counter and primly told him the boss wouldn't be back until later in the week, if then.
Longarm nodded and said, 'I know Fred Ryan rode the mail ambulance east. We waved to one another in passing. I'd be Deputy U.S. Marshal Custis Long, and I'm sure old Fred would be proud to let me use your telegraph key, seeing the army signal officer seems away on serious business as well.'
The young breed rose warily to come over by the counter as he confessed to being Hino-Usdi Rogers of the Cherokee persuasion. When Longarm bluntly asked him what a Cherokee might be doing here in Kiowa-Comanche country, Rogers looked embarrassed and explained how Ryan had brought him along to a newer post after hiring him and training him at the Tahlequah Agency in the Cherokee Nation. Longarm didn't care. Ryan had obviously been with the B.I.A. longer than the Kiowa or Comanche had been with this agency.
Rogers opened a flap at one end of the counter, but warned Longarm, even as the far taller deputy stepped
