get more use out of them.
It got downright spooky when you got to the real-estate deals a man who could pass for Comanche or Texas Parker was capable of pulling off. For thanks to having been accepted by his late mother's kin all over North Texas, he was in a position to put on some pants and make a profit from any proven homestead he could get off some greenhorn cheap.
A mean thought crossed Longarm's mind when he came to that. But he'd have heard about any recent Comanche scares down the other side of the Red River. Meanwhile, two out of three homesteaders went bust with no help from anyone but the grasshoppers and fickle climate out this way. He noticed most of the part-time Indian's cropland deals had been just east of Longitude 100', where dry farming or dairy herds had more of a chance. He wondered who in thunder had ever taught a Comanche war chief you needed just over ten inches of rain before you dared to bust your sod. Poor Cynthia Ann Parker had only been nine when she'd had to learn more about weaving baskets and tanning hides than agriculture. One suspected that in spite of his long braids, old Quanah had to be another sneak who reads books when his pals weren't watching.
The papers he was reading inspired Longarm to send other questions to the outside world. When he contacted Anadarko again to see if they had anything on Colonel Howard's column yet, they wired back that the cav had stopped for a trail break at the dinky sub-agency at Elgin, meaning Howard was really taking his own good time and that he'd be lucky to make it up to Anadarko by sundown.
Then the main agency wired that they'd been getting other scattered reports, or complaints, after putting out their own wires about those mysterious riders.
Few had been hurt or seriously shaken down, but now that they all thought back, there had been some Indian Police chasing a bunch of Kiowa stock thieves, and as a matter of fact the Indian Police had been given food, fodder, and some travel expenses they said Quanah would repay, in his own good time, as they wandered the big reserve.
A more recent report from an Indian settlement along Beaver Creek, east of Fort Sill, said about a score of riders, dressed more like Saltu cowhands than either police or a warrior society, had skirted to the north a sunset back, despite the wind and rain they'd been riding through with night coming on.
Longarm grinned up at the Cherokee breed as he took the last of that down and said, 'They're running for it. They knew the army had caught up with me and thought I knew more than I really do.'
Hino-Usdi batted his lashes like an admiring schoolgal and asked what all that really meant.
Longarm replied, 'From my very first words with that Sergeant Black Sheep they've been out to clean my plow, as if they suspected I suspected something the moment I laid eyes on them.'
The Cherokee breed suggested, 'What if that one who speaks such American English could be wanted by the law? Wouldn't he be afraid you might have recognized him? You did tell him you were a federal lawman, didn't you?'
Longarm nodded thoughtfully and said, 'That only works partway. If we'd ever met before, I'd have really recognized him. That Ben Day process that allows you to print photographs on paper is too new for older wanted posters to enter the equation. And he'd know better than to front for the outfit if he was on any recent ones.'
Rogers shrugged and said, 'You did say they went right to war with you, didn't you?'
To which Longarm could only reply, 'Damn it, kid, I just now said I didn't know why they were so scared of me. Suffice it to say, they were. They tried more than once to gun me out on the range. When that didn't work they just ran for it. Hold on. I want to wire some other Indian Police I know in Atoka.'
As he started to, Rogers said, 'That's way off this reserve.'
Longarm said, 'I know. Ed Vernon picks up his private liquor there. That's the best place for sneaks with Indian features, no offense, to board a railroad train. They'll expect me to wire Spanish Flats, but hardly another Indian agency by a handy railroad.'
Rogers marveled, 'It's no wonder they were afraid of you! They'll take ever so long to ride all those miles between here and Atoka, and your Choctaw friends will have plenty of time to set up an ambush!'
Longarm said, 'Not if I don't wire them sometime today. I might as well get word to Fort Washita, halfways there, whilst I'm at it. Lord knows Colonel Howard wouldn't be able to head 'em off now, even if I could tell him which way they seemed to be headed!'
He got to work on the key, the cheroot gripped between his bared teeth as he glared unconsciously at the wall beyond. For no matter how surely he worded his messages, he still had no idea what he'd done to scare them clean off the Kiowa Comanche reserve!
He sent a few more messages to agencies along the 160mile route of the fugitives, assuming they weren't headed another way entirely. By the time he'd finished and lit another cheroot, Western Union was sending Billy Vail's reply to his earlier report. Their telegram delivery boy had made good time.
Vail told him Smiley and Dutch had been down to Trinidad and back with little additional light to shed on old Attila Homagy's domestic problems. Some neighbors said the pretty young Magda Homagy had run off with that same tall, dark, and handsome stranger. Vail had a dozen good guesses as to how Homagy could have learned, or guessed, which way his own chosen home-wrecker had flown. Longarm could think up more, starting with, 'Say, did you see my pal Longarm passing through here just the other day?'
Vail agreed Fort Sill wasn't working out so well as a hideout, and flatly forbade a ride up to Anadarko. Sitting at his Denver desk, the sly old marshal had come to the same conclusions about Homagy and a buckboard on muddy lonesome roads. He ordered Longarm to give Quanah Parker another day to get back and state just what in thunder he'd had in mind before he wandered clean off the damned reservation. Vail said it sounded as if the army and B.I.A. had as good a grip on those fake police as any one man was likely to manage. So Longarm was to spread the word and do what he could, as long as he was there. Then, about the time Attila Homagy could possibly hear he'd just missed him yet again, and go tear-assing down to Spanish Flats, Vail wanted Longarm to return those first ponies near the depot,ride a train one stop east, and head for, say, Waco aboard another. Vail said they either had to find Homagy's runaway wife for him or Shoot him. He added he was working on a report about a tall tinhorn and a brassy blonde with a mighty thick accent up around Fort Collins.
Longarm wired back that he'd possibly cut the mystery rider's trail the easy way, and agreed to do the rest of it old Billy's way. Then he leaned back, heaved a smoky sigh, and said, 'That's just about all of your battery zinc I need to use up on you for now. Looks like I'll be staying here at least overnight. So I reckon I ought to start considering where.'
The baby-faced breed blushed a dusky rose, but sounded downright bold as he suggested, 'I could put you up,
