“Give me the other one,” Longarm ordered as the crowd pressed closer.
Trout handed him the second shotgun and said, “We’re in trouble.”
“No,” Longarm gritted, “this crowd is in trouble.”
The woman that he’d shoved was glaring at Longarm as if he were a viper, and the rest of the now-sullen crowd had fallen silent. They were a hard, unforgiving bunch, and Longarm had no doubt that they’d side with Oakley and free him, if they thought they could do so without getting shot.
“All right,” Longarm said, facing them with the shotgun. “It’s clear that you people have no respect for law and order and I am a federal officer.”
“What the hell you doing to Ford!” a young man cried, hand shading his gun butt. “Just where the hell are you taking my friend!”
“He’s going to stand trial in Denver,” Longarm said. “And we’re just passing through your miserable and lawless town seeking no trouble from anyone.”
The young man glanced from side to side seeking support from the crowd. His eyes were wild and he had a crazy look to him that actually alarmed Longarm. He could see that the young fool might actually go for his six-gun, and then a lot of people standing on either side of him could get hit by the scattergun in his fist.
There was only one thing to do and Longarm took charge. He jumped forward and smashed the crazy man across the side of the jaw with the stock of his shotgun, knocking him flat. The crowd backed up as the twin barrels of Longarm’s shotgun moved back and forth over them.
Longarm said, “Ford Oakley is a rapist, a murderer, and a thief. I don’t care if you folks like him because maybe he hasn’t killed any of you yet and he enjoys spending other people’s money in your saloons. I don’t give a damn about any of that. What I do give a damn about is that I get a wheel on this wagon and that we are not interfered with so that I can continue on with my prisoner. Is that understood by everyone?”
The big whore in the flowered dress actually spat into the dirt at Longarm’s feet. “You’ve sure got your nerve, Marshal! And by God, we just don’t much like lawmen in Lone Pine! Fact is, we run the last man that wore a badge on our streets right out of Lone Pine. We got a vigilante committee here and we handle our own problems our own way.”
“Well,” Longarm said, “this isn’t your problem so back off and go about your business. We’ll be out of here in an hour if your blacksmith is worth anything.”
“Here he comes now!” someone in the crowd hollered.
Everyone turned to see the blacksmith come stomping up the street. He was a big man in his forties with a shock of unruly white hair and thick, sinewy forearms. He wore a leather apron, and was pushing a wagon wheel along much as a kid would a hoop. It appeared to Longarm to be the same diameter as the one that was broken.
Without saying a word to anyone, he took one look at the hub and growled at Longarm, “Don’t any of you dumb people know that a hub is supposed to be greased every now and then?”
“It’s not my medicine wagon.”
“Well it’s not mine either,” the blacksmith declared, spitting a thick brown stream of tobacco into the dirt. “This replacement wheel will fit. Came off a hearse wagon about the size of this one. Cost you ten dollars and take an hour.”
“Ten dollars!”
“That’s right,” the blacksmith said. “Everything is high-priced in Lone Pine … everything, that is, except a man’s life, which we don’t put much value on atall.”
Longarm shook his head. “I can sure see that’s true,” he grumbled. “All right, ten dollars.”
The blacksmith dropped the wheel beside the wagon. “Anyone inside?”
“Yes, two men.”
“I’m gonna have to jack up this wagon and set the wheel proper. You’re gonna have to get them men out.”
Longarm didn’t like any of this, but he could see that he had no choice. “Deputy Trout, come on outside.”
Trout eased out of the wagon, blinking in the sudden brightness of day. When he saw the large and angry crowd, he gulped and whispered, “This isn’t a bit good.”
“Oakley can stay inside,” Longarm said. “He’s … he’s asleep.”
The blacksmith started to protest, but Longarm’s eyes changed his mind and the man muttered, “Well, as long as he stays still and don’t shift the wagon, I guess it’ll be all right.”
“I thought it would be, and he isn’t about to move,” Longarm said, wondering if the young deputy had struck Oakley so hard that the man was seriously injured.
“Be easier if we could get this wagon over to my shop. Maybe some of these people could kind of support the back end and you could drive.”
“Ain’t nobody better help a damned federal marshal,” the whore said, bloodshot eyes raking the crowd.
When everyone nodded in agreement, Longarm shrugged and said to the blacksmith, “I guess you’ll just have to work that wheel on right where the wagon stands.”
“I can do that,” the blacksmith said, “but I’ll need to go back and get my tools.”
“Just make sure that you come back.”
The blacksmith didn’t like the warning, but he seemed to understand that Longarm meant business. “Only take a few minutes to get what I need,” he said, turning on his heel.
“You better get out of here as soon as that wheel is fixed,” the whore said, hands resting on her big hips. “Ford
