for his quarry. The summer had been a dry one, so the river was low in most places, a narrow, meandering flow that left much of the streambed dry and sandy. Further south, from around Waco on to the Gulf, the Brazos was a pretty good-sized river, but in this stretch and further west and north, in the Seven Fingers country, it didn’t amount to much except in times of heavy rain. Then it could come roaring down through these gullies in a sudden flood.
Longarm’s mind wasn’t really on the river. He rode with one eye on his prisoner and the other eye on the trail. He hadn’t given up all hope of running across that gray gelding. The jughead had taken off with all his possibles, including his own Winchester and the McClellan saddle that Longarm preferred to the stockman’s model, which was what was cinched onto the Appaloosa’s back. If he was able to recover his gear, it would improve his disposition a little.
In the meantime, he was still hungry, so he guided the apaloosa with his knees and began rummaging in Rainey’s saddlebags. “You got anything to eat in here?” he asked.
“You stay out of them bags!” Rainey yelped. “What’s in there is none of your business, Long. Hell, you’re nothing but a damned thief hiding behind a badge.”
“Oh, hush up,” Longarm snapped, irritated. “I’ve got a right to search a prisoner’s belongings for evidence— what the hell!”
He lifted his hand out of the bag and stared at the strands of glittering jewelry that hung from his fingers. The necklace and the bracelet were both decorated with an abundance of gems and precious stones. Longarm let out a low whistle.
“You put them baubles back!” Rainey shouted. “They’re not yours!”
“Where in Hades did you get any loot like this?” asked Longarm. “The way I understood it, you and Lloyd didn’t get much from those stage holdups except cash and some bonds. Unless you pulled another job recently that wasn’t in the report I read.” Longarm shook his head. “Anyway, what woman in her right mind would take a stagecoach ride wearing anything like this?”
Rainey glared at him. “Jimmy and I found that jewelry. We didn’t steal it, I swear! So it’s not evidence and you don’t have any right to keep it.”
Longarm snorted in disgust and said, “You expect me to believe you just found jewelry like this out in the middle of nowhere?”
“It’s true, I tell you. Jimmy could tell you himself—if you hadn’t shot him.”
“Yeah, and I’m sure I’d believe him too,” Longarm drawled. “If there’s any law in Cottonwood Springs, I intend to ask him about these. Maybe he’ll know where they came from.”
Rainey still looked angry, but he didn’t say anything else. Longarm was grateful for that. He put the necklace and bracelet in one of the inside pockets of his coat and resumed his search of the saddlebags. As far as he was concerned, what he turned up next was even better than a handful of fancy jewelry.
“Bacon and biscuits!” he exclaimed. “You been holding out on me, Mitch. Got a fryin’ pan anywhere in this gear?”
“Over here in Jimmy’s saddlebag,” Rainey answered reluctantly.
“When we find a good place, we’ll stop and fry us up a mess of this bacon for lunch. That sound all right to you?”
“Sure. Why the hell not?” Rainey’s tone was bitter, but Longarm ignored it.
They had been following a game trail for the past few minutes, and it led inevitably toward the river. As they came within sight of the Brazos once again, Longarm saw that the trail ended at a small clearing on the riverbank. He couldn’t have asked for a better place to make a noon camp.
The two men rode into the clearing, which was surrounded by a thick growth of post oaks and live oaks. Longarm swung down from the saddle, taking Jimmy Lloyd’s Winchester with him. Rainey’s rifle was still in the boot. “You can get down now,” Longarm told the outlaw. “We’ll be here for a while.”
Rainey dismounted, wincing as he did so. “Reckon you ought to take a look at this wound you gave me?” he asked. “I don’t want it to fester up on me.”
Longarm suspected Rainey just wanted to get close enough so that he could make a grab for a gun. With a shake of his head, Longarm said, “You’ll be all right.”
Rainey blew out his breath in a noisy sigh and started muttering about highhanded lawmen who killed a fella’s partner and then didn’t give a damn about whether or not a gent got blood poisoning from the bullet wound that the damned highhanded lawman had been responsible for in the first place. Longarm paid no attention to the complaints. Instead he gestured with the barrel of the Winchester in his hands and said, “Go over there to that post oak tree.”
“What for?” Rainey asked with a suspicious frown.
“Just do it.”
The outlaw walked slowly to the tree Longarm had indicated, then said, “All right, I’m here. Now what?”
“Hug it.”
Rainey’s frown deepened as he pulled his head back to stare at Longarm. “What?”
“I said hug the tree.”
“I’m an outlaw, damn it!” Rainey burst out. “I don’t go around huggin’ trees!”
“You do now,” Longarm said calmly. He lifted the barrel of the rifle a little for emphasis.
Rainey rolled his eyes, gritted his teeth, then faced the tree and threw his arms around it. The trunk of the post oak was slender enough so that his arms easily encircled it.
“That’s good,” Longarm said. “Now, stay just like that for-“
Rainey had his back to Longarm now and couldn’t see the lawman. “What the hell are you doing?” he asked
