nowhere.
Chapter 33
It was a long, slow grind to reach Sorrel Branch, partly because the narrow gauge P & P westbound stopped at every little whipstitch, either to handle freight or maybe so the engineer could take a leak, and partly because the farther west in Kansas they went, the fewer people there were who could come together and make a town.
By the time dawn and Sorrel Branch arrived, each at roughly the same time, Longarm figured they were about as far away from civilization as it was possible to get in the modern world.
Even so, Sorrel Branch was bigger than Longarm had expected. Which is to say that it was demonstrably bigger than a breadbox. But not much.
It consisted of a general mercantile, a smithy, a tool and harness shop, a barber/surgeon, two churches, assorted houses—most of them unimposing—and one lonely saloon.
“Yes, sir,” Longarm mumbled half under his breath as he passed McWhortle on the patch of beaten earth and gravel that passed for a railroad depot, “you sure can pick ‘em. Where’s our hotel for tonight?”
“No hotel or boardinghouse here,” the boss said loud enough for all to hear. “We play this afternoon and pull west again tonight.”
Which precipitated a general round of groaning and grumbling. Two straight nights spent on the grimy upholstery of Plains and Pacific passenger coaches was considerably more than human flesh was intended to endure.
Yeah, Longarm thought, the life of the professional baseball player was one glamorous son of a bitch, all right.
“All right, everybody. Breakfast is at the Catholic Church over there. Then we’ll take some fielding practice and have our dinner courtesy of the Methodists in that church there. Or maybe it’s the other way around. I’m not sure which church is which, but the Catholics will feed us breakfast and the Methodists dinner. Leave your things piled on the cart here. Jerry will stay and watch over everything. Short, you can take your meals with us but other than that stay out of my sight. No, better yet you can make yourself useful. When you’re done eating you can bring a plate over to Jerry. All right now everybody, follow me.” The manager set off at a brisk pace toward the nearer of the two churches. Whichever one it was and whether there was food waiting for them there or not.
Longarm held back and leaned on a suitcase that was damn near as battered and disreputable as his own. He reached into his pocket for a cheroot and lighted it. “Tell you what, kid,” he said to the equipment boy. “You go ahead an’ join the rest o’ the team for breakfast, an’ I’ll eat when you’re done. That’ll be better than me tryin’ to figure out what you like an’ what you don’t. I’m fine right here till you’re done.”
Jerry gave Longarm a look like he’d just been given a bright shiny toy for Christmas and ran to catch up with the team, which by now had gotten close enough to read the small sign beside the door of the church they’d been aiming for and had shifted their attention to the other church instead.
At least now he knew where to go for dinner, Longarm thought as he enjoyed the remarkably clean flavor of the cheroot he’d bought back in—What the hell was the name of that place anyhow? Already the whistle-stop schedule was making the names and the memories meld into a single blur. Anyhow, the cigar was damned good. And surely that counted for something, didn’t it? He leaned against the baggage cart with his eyes drooping closed and felt the heat of the coming day rise along with the sun.
Chapter 34
Damn, it was hot. Boring as hell, too. But then boring was the biggest part of being a peace officer. Which, come to think of it, was what a fellow wanted. The more boring things were the better they were going.
Still, there were times when it could get to a man. Waiting. All the damn time waiting for something stupid and wild and dangerous to happen. And then you earned your pay. Such as it was.
Longarm sighed and tossed away the butt of his fourth-or-so cigar of the day. He was hot, irritable, and wishing he could get this deal over and done with. Then maybe Billy would let him take a couple days off. He could take a train into the high country. Maybe go up to Fairplay. He knew some folks there who would put out the welcome mat … and perhaps offer some comforts even more hospitable than that. There was a lady named Jane-Ann who …
Best to not be thinking about that, he told himself in no uncertain terms. Not when there was a job to be done. Jane-Ann could be tended to after, not during. And for the time being …
He got up from the sidewalk bench where he’d been idling and ambled down the street toward the one and lonely saloon that the bustling burg of Sorrel Branch had to offer.
Longarm had long since learned there was no regular post office in the town. What there was was a set of pigeonholes and a tiny counter at the back of the mercantile. Not much of a target for a sophisticated band of robbers but all the place had to offer. What Longarm figured to do was hang around and watch—there seemed no point in announcing his presence or his function, either one—while the townsfolk went off to watch the ball game.
If anybody wanted to break into the mercantile, good. Longarm would be willing to nab them.
As for the local law, well, there didn’t seem to be any. Not that he could spot anyhow.
Which was a right fair excuse for a man to get off the hot and dusty street and step inside the cooler confines of a friendly saloon. Right? Damn straight.
He passed through a set of hanging fly beads and paused just inside the doorway for a moment to let his eyes adjust after the bright glare outdoors, then made his way to the bar. Which, he had to admit, was impressive.
The back-bar was made of polished mahogany, carved into intricate patterns and set off with grinning gilt gargoyles and a set of mirrors and delicate latticework so nicely done that the many small mirrors were made to look like one very large one. Clever.
The place was crowded, the level of trade undoubtedly given a sharp boost by the promise of the baseball game that would take place later on. People would have come in from miles around, and every business in town was sure to benefit.
Longarm eased through the happy, chattering drinkers and found a spot within arm’s length of the free lunch display. He snagged a pickled egg and a generous sized hunk of rat cheese and avoided a rebuke from the bartender
