“All right,” Longarm relented. “I need to start traveling.”
“How far are you going today?”
“I’ll ride until sundown,” Longarm told the man. “I hope to reach South Park tomorrow.”
“Then you’d best be going now,” Bert said, leading the saddled Target out of the stall and replacing his halter with the spade bit and a fine leather headstall. “You tighten the cinch and get mounted while I catch your mule.”
“What’s his name?”
“Geezer,” Bert called back. “Or whatever you chose to call him given your spirit of the moment.”
“Geezer will do,” Longarm said, flipping up the left stirrup and then tightening the cinch.
Because he was going up into the Rockies, Longarm put some muscle to the cinch to make sure that it would not slip, stretch, or work loose on a steep trail. Target didn’t like that one damned bit. The handsome palomino’s ears flattened tight against his head and his neck snaked out. He snapped his big yellow teeth in warning, missing Longarm’s shoulder by only a hair.
“Dammit!” Longarm cussed, backhanding the horse across its muzzle. “Don’t you even think about biting me!”
Target pulled away suddenly, jerking Longarm completely off his feet. It took some doing to get the horse under control.
“Bert! I don’t think this is going to work out between us this time.”
“Oh, sure it will!” the old Montana cowboy cried as he dragged Geezer up and tied the mule’s long lead rope around the saddlehorn. “You and Target just need to cover a few hard miles together. Right now, Target is just a little trail-rusty. Once you’ve worked the kinks out of him, he’ll be as gentle as Geezer.”
Longarm wasn’t happy, but he was in a big hurry. South Park was a long, long ride up into the mountains, and he’d be lucky to get within twenty miles of it before a veil of darkness dropped silently over the Rocky Mountains.
“If this horse gives me a bad time,” Longarm warned, “then …”
“Then sell him, buy a lesser animal, and we’ll settle up the account when you return!” Bert exclaimed. “That’s fair, ain’t it?”
“Sure,” Longarm growled, dropping his stirrup and mounting Target.
The palomino stood quietly. Geezer hee-hawed, looking forlorn and worried.
“Let’s go,” Longarm said, putting his heels to the palomino’s ribs.
Target shot out through the livery’s wide barn doors, and would have stampeded up the street except that he had to drag poor Geezer. The mule, slower, wiser, and very powerful in its own right, did not appreciate the severe pressure on its halter and began braying up the street, causing everyone to turn their heads, then grin at Longarm’s discomfort.
“Dammit, anyway,” Longarm swore, finally managing to rein in the headstrong palomino, “this sure as hell is starting off all wrong.”
Chapter 5
Longarm made a quick stop at Judge Getty’s mansion to say good-bye to Lavinia. There being no hitching post in front of the mansion, Longarm tied Target up to the white picket fence and kept the mule dallied to his saddlehorn. He could see that Lavinia had plenty of company, no doubt friends coming to extend their condolences. There were three or four carriages outside and a number of people milling around on the front veranda. Longarm could not see Lavinia and considered just leaving without a good-bye, but rejected that idea, knowing that it would be callous and break his promise.
When Longarm stepped onto the veranda, he was aware of how out of place he appeared among those who had come to pay the judge their final respects. To begin with, all of them were much older and more financially successful than he was. They were the cream of Denver society. Feeling entirely out of place, Longarm spied a maid carrying a tray of food and drinks. He snagged a glass of champagne.
“Custis!”
He turned to see Lavinia detach herself from a cluster of dignified men and come hurrying over to join him. She slipped her arm through his and steered him to the edge of the veranda. Tilting her head back, she said, “You know, you are by far the handsomest man here today.”
“And by far the youngest,” he replied, sipping his champagne. “I’m on my way out of town. I wanted to say good-bye.”
Lavinia’s smile faded. “Where are you going to start looking for that horrible murderer, or am I allowed to ask such a question?”
“Of course you can ask,” Longarm replied. “Actually, now that James Smith has lost his family, we really don’t have a clue as to where he can be found or know much of anything else about him. About the only thing that we can be sure of is that, now that he has murdered Judge Getty, he will direct his need for revenge against the Marble Gang. So, I’m going after them and I’ll play the cards I’m dealt from that point on.”
“Will he know your face?” Lavinia asked. “Will he know who you are and then try to kill you too?”
“Again,” Longarm repeated, “I just don’t have any answers. My job is to track the gang down, if necessary one by one. I can’t say for certain, but I’m pretty sure that my path and that of our secret assassin will eventually cross.”
“If he knows who you are and can recognize you, he’ll have a great advantage.”
“Yes, and I’ve thought of that. But Smith really was burned in the fire that took his family, and he’s going to be pretty easily remembered. I shouldn’t have much difficulty picking him out of a crowd.”
Lavinia nodded in agreement. “I don’t suppose you have any idea when you’ll return.”
