He woke the next morning with the sun well up. Sarah hadn’t brought his breakfast and for that he was grateful. It gave him time to get up and wash his face and brush his teeth and run a razor over his cheeks. He did the best he could with stroking his hands over his hair, but without a brush, he knew it was still a tangled mess.
He hated to put his jeans back on—he had been wearing them for a week—but he wasn’t about to walk around in a sheet the rest of the time, so he reluctantly climbed back into the well-worn denim pants.
It was near eight o’clock by his watch when Sarah let herself back into his room. She was wearing the old robe made from blue blanket material. He tried to act nonchalant, as if there was nothing between them, but she immediately came up and kissed him hard on the mouth, probing her tongue into his. He pulled back and glanced down the hall.
He asked, “What’s going on? I thought we had to be careful?”
Sarah said, “They are not watching me so closely this morning. They locked the hall door after me—no one followed.”
“Are you Sure there’s no one in those other rooms?”
“Yes, I looked.” She nodded her head vigorously. She suddenly began to unbutton her robe.
Longarm said, alarmed, “Wait a minute, Sarah. We can’t do that-“
But she cut him off. She said, “I’ve got some clothes for you. They’re Richard’s. He’s not as big as you are, but maybe they’ll still fit. I’ve got some pants and a good white shirt and some clean socks. I even brought you some clean underwear.”
He smiled slightly. “I don’t wear underwear so I don’t need any.”
“Hide your old clothes under the bed and maybe they’ll never notice. I got colors that are approximately what you had on. Have you thought of any way I can help yet?”
Longarm kissed her lightly. He said, “No, my dear, but I’m thinking.”
Then all too soon she was starting toward the door. He stopped her as she began to turn the knob. He said, “Sarah, be careful. I can see the difference in you. They’ll spot it immediately.”
She smiled. “I’m only like this around You. outside of this door, i’m the same old beaten-down dead Sarah. Don’t worry about that. They don’t pay any more attention to Me than they would one of the goats.” With that, she was gone through the door, locking it behind her.
The room door was no problem. The problem was the door to the hall and the problem was how to get through the door to the hall with a weapon in his hand so anyone trying to stop him could be stopped themselves. He needed a weapon; a revolver, a shotgun, a rifle, something that would work at a distance rather than just face-to- face. He couldn’t fight a gun with a knife. He sat down to his breakfast. It was ham and eggs and grits and biscuits and coffee. One thing he could say about the jail Judge Harding had set up was that it fed him good.
After he had finished his breakfast, Longarm sat on the side of his bed with a glass of whiskey in hand and a lit cigarillo and thought. He started off thinking about Judge Richard Harding. Now that he was giving it careful examination, digging into the deep recesses of his memory, he found he knew More about the judge than he had first thought. A federal circuit judge such as Harding had great powers within his district—his circuit. It was a federal circuit judge’s job to move from town to town and hold trial in different places. Judge Harding, if Longarm’s memory served him correctly, had a district that encompassed a good half of the border and most of southeast Texas, almost to San Antonio. It was a lot of power to put into one man’s hand, especially if that man was a crook. But he also remembered that Judge Harding was considered a comer. He wasn’t particularly old. Longarm thought of him as being somewhere around forty. It was said that he had friends in high places in Washington. He was also rumored to have money. Supposedly, it was family money, but Longarm reckoned that a crooked federal judge could just about get rich by taking a piece of every illegal dollar that crossed the border. He had no doubts that Judge Harding had done just such a thing. And now, along had come this $200,000 payday. Longarm could see how a situation like that would make an evil man like Harding lick his lips.
It worried Longarm, now that he knew about Harding, that the man might be able to effect some sort of a deal faster than could be expected or Longarm could only speculate on what method Harding might try, but he might convince officials in San Antonio that he could somehow act as a go-between and not only get him, Longarm, back safely but manage to get Earl Combs to divulge where the money was. Of course, he had no intention of doing any such thing. Once he got control of the situation, he would make Combs tell him where the money was, then kill him and then kill Longarm.
Now that he knew who he was dealing with, Longarm gave no thought to Harding’s sincere-sounding vows that he had no desire to have the death of a deputy marshal on his hands.
But that was all well and good. Now he knew his enemy a little bit better, but that didn’t get him out of the room and out of the house and on a horse on his way to try and stop Harding. How to do that? He looked around the room for the hundredth time trying to think of some way out. All he had, really, was a penknife and eight cartridges. He couldn’t see how any of those were going to do him much good, but as he stared at his gun belt hanging over the back of one of the chairs, he looked hard at the cartridges and then looked over at an empty bottle of whiskey that was sitting on the bedside table. A thought slowly began to work itself into his mind. He glanced at the kerosene lantern. For a moment, he let his mind play around with the idea, and then he shook his head, dismissed the thought, and let his mind go blank.
After he had finished smoking his cigarillo and finished his glass of whiskey, he let the thought come back into his mind. He played with it, looking at it from first one angle and then another. It was possible, just barely possible. A long shot, but then that was all he had for ammunition at the time—long shots.
Longarm got up, went over to his gun belt, extracted a cartridge from its loop, and went back and sat on the bed. First, he put the lead slug of the cartridge between his teeth and tried to twist it. Nothing happened except he could feel the strain he was putting on his teeth. Next, he opened his penknife and took the short stubby blade and ran it between the brass casing and the lead slug. Gently, he began trying to work the slug out of the lead casing. It didn’t want to come. After he’d tried for a few moments longer, he saw that the attempt was futile and he dropped his knife and the slug on the bed and stared across at the wall. He needed a pair of pliers. He wondered if Sarah could get them for him. He needed several other things too and he thought she could get them.
With his mind still making plans, he got up and took off his old dirty jeans and dropped them on the floor and kicked them under the bed. He took up the pair of Judge Harding’s pants; they were the very highest quality corduroy. He sat down on the bed and ran his legs into them and then stood up and pulled them up around his waist. He had to smile. Mr. Harding’s pants were about two inches too short for him, and the waist was about two inches too big. It didn’t make any difference, however. At least they were clean. He picked up the shirt and put it on. It was high-quality linen. Apparently it was nothing but the best for the Honorable Judge Richard Harding. He
