“I like money,” Longarm was able to admit, “but I also like my work.”
“How could you?“Richmond looked skeptical. “Marshal, you are constantly being subjected to the dregs of our society. Your life is always in danger and you can’t afford to turn your back on people for fear that one of them is an avenging ghost from your past intent on murder. You are often forced to go out into the wilderness in pursuit of a fugitive. You are constantly on the move and, because you are so badly paid, you must live and eat like a poor man. In short, a frontier marshal such as yourself suffers a miserable existence.”
“Why don’t you shut up,” Longarm growled. “There’s some nice scenery outside. Look around and give me some peace.”
“I will,” Richmond promised. “But first, I’d really appreciate it if you would answer my question. Why do you remain a United States marshal given the danger, the lousy pay, and the loneliness you must endure?”
“Mainly, I like the danger and the excitement,” Longarm said, figuring he’d give it one more try and then he’d silence this man one way or another. “For your information—and I don’t expect you to understand—I like being on the move, and I like the chance to help people in trouble.”
“A real humanitarian, huh?”
“No, but I believe in our criminal justice system and I think that I do a good job of upholding it throughout the West.”
“Oh, my,” Richmond said, making a face. “You sound like an idealist.”
Longarm’s hands knotted into fists. “At least I’m not scurrying all over the country selling panties to prostitutes.”
Richmond blushed. “I take umbrage at that remark, sir!”
“You can take both your umbrage and your fat ass up to the roof of this coach for all I care.”
“I would fry up there in the sun!”
“Then I’ll go up,” Longarm said, grabbing his Winchester and opening the door. “I’ve had about all of your company that I can stand.”
“I was just trying to tell you how-“
“Shut up!” Longarm ordered, leaning out of the rolling coach and grabbing the roof rail.
“Why, you big fool!” Richmond exclaimed. “I hope you’ll always be poor! And you’ll deserve to be because you are stupid!”
Longarm had been just about ready to climb up on the top of the coach, but this last insult could not be ignored. Hauling his big frame back into the coach, he reached out with his left hand and grabbed Richmond by the front of his expensive white silk shirt. Then he jerked the obnoxious little fellow off his seat.
“You miserable little louse,” Longarm hissed. “If you were even half a man, I’d thrash you. But you’re just a pathetic little toad who counts every man’s worth in terms of how much money they make.”
Fear dominated Richmond’s face. His eyes bulged, but the drink had given him just enough whiskey courage to blurt out, “And what other measure is there!”
“Honor!” Longarm growled. “Courage and principle. Doing a job well that is important. Those are the reasons that men pin on a badge and endure hardships and poor pay. That’s why the best ones can’t be bought or compromised.”
Longarm hurled the drummer back into his seat. “But you wouldn’t understand things like that. You’re just a slimy little peddler who wallows in filth and whiskey. You make me sick to my stomach!”
Before Richmond could regain his senses and screech out a defense, Longarm kicked the door back open and leaned out. He climbed up on top of the rolling coach and joined the driver and the shotgun guard.
“Afternoon, gentlemen!” he called. “Hope you don’t mind a little extra company.”
The pair of stagecoach employees turned around and both smiled. “Hell, no!” the shotgun guard yelled. “Ernie and me both agreed that you wouldn’t be able to stand the company of that sorry little drummer all the way to Gold Mountain.”
“Well,” Longarm said, “you both called that one right. Does he ride this stage very often?”
“Once a month, regular as a clock,” the driver said. “He comes over from Elko with a couple of suitcases stuffed with silk underwear, stockings, and all manner of pretty things for the ladies of the night. We haul his miserable ass from one boom town to the next and he sells everything he’s got, then heads back to Reno for more. The ladies hate him, but they can’t wait to see what he’s bringing them next.”
“He brags about making six thousand dollars a year,” Longarm said, making himself as comfortable as possible given the jolting of the stage and the blazing heat from the sky.
“Mr. Richmond does indeed make a lot of money,” the shotgun guard agreed with a shake of his head, “but the little fart spends it faster than you can shuck that six-gun, Marshal.”
“Is that a fact.”
“Yep.” Ernie chuckled. “Half the time our company has to advance Mr. Richmond the money for a ticket so that he can return to Reno. What Richmond don’t drink up, he eats up, and what he don’t either eat or drink, he spends on the whores that are his main customers. They get most of their money right back in services they render to the bastard.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Longarm replied. “A man like that would have to pay for all his pleasures. No woman is going to give it to a fella like him for free.”
“We both expect that Richmond will wind up shot or stabbed to death one of these days,” the driver, whose name was Ray, shouted. “Either a drunken whore will cut Richmond’s throat for silk panties, or else someone will rob and shoot him some dark night when he’s drunk and staggering around with a wallet full of money.”
“I expect that you’re right,” Longarm said.
