“Sure,” Smith said, bitterness thick in his voice. “You’re just another lawman going by the book. Following the rules without exception. Right or wrong. Black or white. Guilty … or innocent. Is that it, Marshal Long? Have I pegged you correctly?”
“When,” Longarm asked, pointedly ignoring the question, “are we leaving to get Tom Marble?”
“Why not tomorrow morning? I’ll be much stronger by then.”
“Suits me,” Longarm replied.
“Turn around,” Smith ordered. “We’ll tie you up overnight. We’ll have supper brought in tonight, and tomorrow morning, after we have breakfast, we’ll ride out and settle this thing once and for all.”
“All right,” Longarm said, turning around and putting his hands behind his back. “You’re the man holding the winning hand this round.”
“That’s right,” Smith said. “And don’t you forget it. Up to now, I’ve never killed anyone that didn’t need killing. Don’t force me to make you the exception.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Longarm growled, feeling rope bite into his bare wrists.
Chapter 18
Surprisingly, they all slept well that night. Longarm was allowed to sleep in an overstuffed chair, but only after his ankles had been tied securely to its legs so that he could not possibly have attacked his slumbering captors without making enough noise to awaken them. And after a good breakfast in the room, Longarm’s ankles were untied and he was led up the street to collect poor Splash, who had not been fed or watered. Longarm complained about the mistreatment of his mount.
“It’ll take a while for the liveryman to get the buggy hitched,” Smith reasoned. “In the meantime, you can water and grain your paint horse, but Betty will have you under her gun at all times.”
“Thanks,” Longarm said drily.
The townspeople watched but did not interfere, which did not surprise Longarm. Maybe they knew he was a United States marshal, but they also knew that Smith and Betty had rid them of Dave Marble and were planning to kill his even more hated and dangerous brother, Tom.
As the three were leaving town with Longarm’s wrists tied in front of him, Longarm said, “A bartender told me that Tom Marble was staying just outside-“
“We already know where he’s staying,” Betty interrupted. “And we know that he is not alone.”
“Then maybe,” Longarm said, his patience wearing razor-blade thin, “you two vigilantes ought to at least consider letting me help you!”
“No, thanks,” Smith said, looking amazingly chipper for a man with a fresh bullet hole in his shoulder.
Two hours later, they came in sight of the little spread where Tom Marble was supposedly staying. They drew up about a half mile from the ranch house and studied it for a long time.
“What are we going to do now?” Longarm finally asked. “Or were you just planning to drive in there and allow us to be shot down from ambush?”
For the first time, Smith appeared undecided. Longarm also noticed that the man was not looking so chipper anymore. In fact, he was very pale and in considerable pain. Longarm had a hunch that his bullet wound had reopened because of the jarring buggy ride and that the man was now losing more blood.
“I suppose we could wait and go in after dark,” Smith gritted out, “but I’d like to get this over with as quickly as possible.”
“Because you’re fading fast,” Longarm said. “Isn’t that the truth? You’re afraid that, if you wait, you’ll be in no shape to kill Tom. In fact, you’re afraid you might even bleed to death.”
“Let’s just go on in,” Smith wheezed, ignoring Longarm and turning to Betty. “Tom will recognize you but I doubt he’ll recognize me. What about you, Marshal? Will he recognize you?”
“Not likely.”
“Then let’s just drive on in as bold as brass,” Smith said, forcing the issue.
“Sure wish you’d untie my wrists and let me have my gun,” Longarm told them. “If you are killed, I’m also as good as dead.”
“Then you’d better hope we nail Tom before he nails us.”
Longarm studied the distant house and the corrals. There were two saddled horses tied to a tree shading the house. “Whoever is there has already seen us,” he said. “If we ride up to the cabin like this, they’ll realize that my hands are tied and they’ll shoot us down in cold blood.”
“Maybe not,” Smith said weakly.
“Dammit, man!” Longarm protested. “They’ll kill Betty too! Tom Marble will soon learn that she killed his brother. And how do you think he’ll react to that?”
“I … I don’t know.”
“Of course you do!”
“Don’t listen to him,” Betty warned, trying to take control of the reins and drive on. “I’ll be all right.”
But Smith knew better. “Wait a minute,” he said quietly. “Betty, I’m afraid that the marshal is right this time. Tom would kill you.”
“But not if we kill him first!”
“We can’t take that chance,” Smith reasoned, “I’M not in very good shape. I could get killed and then you’d be entirely at the mercy of that bloody-handed sonofabitch.”
