Her husband snorted. “For God’s sake, you were almost killed this afternoon, Helene! Not only do we have to contend with the monster, whatever it may be, but now there’s that man Rainey to worry about. No, I insist you return to the town with Marshal Long.”
“I haven’t said I was going back,” Longarm snapped.
“You’re in no shape to go gallivanting around over the countryside,” Lucy told him.
Longarm shook his head. “I’ll be fine. I’ve got a stake in this hunt too.”
“If we find Rainey, we’ll bring him back to Cottonwood Springs,” offered Thorp.
“I don’t reckon my boss would be too understanding happen I should tell him I sat around town while a bunch of civilians tracked down an escaped prisoner for me,” Longarm said dryly. “No offense, Mr. Thorp, but you don’t know Chief Marshal Billy Vail the way I do.”
Thorp shrugged. “I’m not going to argue with you. It’s your head, Long.”
“And I’m not going to argue either,” Helene said. “I’m staying with the group, and that’s final.”
Booth seemed about to disagree some more with his wife; then an expression of resignation appeared on his distinguished features. “Very well,” he said curtly. “I know that arguing with you, Helene, is much like arguing with the London fog. It does as it pleases, no matter how one rails against it.”
Helene smiled smugly. “So very gracious of you, John.”
At the moment, Longarm wasn’t interested in the way they sniped at each other. The sickness in his belly had passed, and now he was conscious of how empty it was. “If there’s any supper left, I could do with some,” he said, and Randamar Ghote brought him a plate of bacon, biscuits, and beans. Simple fare, but Longarm had rarely tasted better. The fancy china, the folding table, and the champagne were nowhere in sight tonight. Obviously, the events of the afternoon had made everyone in the party realize that this was serious business, not some sort of lark. Longarm hoped that Lord and Lady Beechmuir, especially, would remember that.
While Longarm was finishing the food, Thorp said, “We’d better take turns standing guard tonight. I don’t want that monster stumbling over our camp in the dark … although if he did, that’d save us the trouble of hunting him down.”
“Capital idea, Benjamin,” Lord Beechmuir agreed. “There are six men, not counting the marshal, who should be exempt due to his injury, of course. I suggest we form teams of two men each. Singh and I would be glad to take the first turn, then Ghote and your man Randall could have the second part of the night, leaving yourself and Mr. Vermilion to finish the task.”
Thorp was nodding when Lucy said, “Wait just a darned minute. I can stand guard as well as any man.”
“‘Tain’t necessary, daughter,” Catamount Jack said. “What Lord Beechmuir says makes sense.”
Longarm was feeling better now that he had eaten, so he spoke up. “I don’t mind taking a turn. I had a nice long nap—even though it wasn’t my idea.”
“There’s a big difference in sleepin’ and bein’ knocked unconscious,” Lucy pointed out. “You ought to rest, Marshal.”
Longarm set his empty plate aside and fished a cheroot out of his shirt pocket. This bunch couldn’t do anything without talking it to death first, he realized. The whole lot of them should have run for Congress and gone to Washington. But he just said mildly, “If you’re worried about me, Miss Vermilion, I reckon you and me could take the same turn. Then you could keep an eye on me.”
“Well … it would only be for a couple of hours if there’s four teams,” Lucy said. “I reckon it’d be all right. We’ll stand the first watch, though, so in case you get to feelin’ poorly, we can wake up somebody else and let them take over.”
“Fair enough,” Longarm said with a nod, then looked around to see if everybody was in agreement.
No one objected, although Longarm thought he saw a definite look of disapproval in Helene Booth’s eyes. He wasn’t sure why she would care one way or the other, unless she still had her cap set for him and was jealous of the fact that Lucy would get to spend that much time with him. The way he felt, though, romance was sure as hell about the last thing on Longarm’s mind, so Helene didn’t have anything to worry about.
With the matter settled, everybody got ready to turn in except Longarm and Lucy. She poured another cup of coffee for him and one for herself, then sat down cross-legged beside him on the ground, her Sharps at her side.
Not surprisingly, Lord and Lady Beechmuir didn’t just spread their bedrolls on the ground in plain sight of everybody else. The seemingly bottomless packs they had brought along yielded up a canvas tent, which Singh and Ghote set up with practiced efficiency. The tent wasn’t large, but it was big enough for Booth and Helene. The two servants slept in the open, rolling up in blankets, as did Thorp and Randall. Catamount Jack, of course, was accustomed to having no roof except the stars, and within two minutes after he spread his buffalo robes and crawled into them, he was snoring loudly.
Longarm waited until it seemed that everybody was asleep, then stood up. Instantly, Lucy was on her feet beside him, worriedly putting a hand on his arm. “What are you doin’, Marshal? If there’s something you need, I’ll be glad to fetch …”
“No offense, Miss Vermilion, but some things a fella’s just got to do by himself,” he said with a faint smile.
“Oh. Well, in that case…” She picked up his Winchester and handed it to him. “You’d better take this with you, and keep your eyes open.”
“I generally do,” Longarm assured her, not adding that when a man took a leak with his eyes closed, he sometimes wound up pissing down his boot.
He felt a little shakier than he let on, but he was able to circle the campfire and move off into the darkness beyond the ring of light. It took only a moment for him to realize that they were camped on a bluff overlooking the river. He could see a silver line of moonlight reflecting off the Brazos below. The night was full of sounds: the call of an owl, the rustle of small animals, the far-off howl of a coyote. The noise was a welcome reassurance to Longarm that nothing strange was prowling around at the moment. He would have worried more if the night had been quiet.
