toppled over backward.
Longarm jumped to his feet and scrambled away before the killer could recover and lunge at him with the knife again. He drew his gun and shouted, “Put it down!”
“No,” Oakley swore. “This time, you’ll have to take it from me, by Gawd!”
Longarm cocked the hammer of his gun, took aim on the man’s kneecap, and said, “Put it down or you’ll crawl up the gallows stairs. Your choice.”
Oakley’s face turned purple with rage, but he didn’t want his kneecap blown to smithereens, so he finally dropped the knife.
“Now,” Longarm ordered, “just move away. Nice and easy-“
“Hey!” Bert cried, dropping both buckets and staring. “What’s going on here!”
“Stay back,” Longarm ordered. “This man is my prisoner and he’s a killer.”
“Don’t listen to him, kid. I been wrongly accused. I heard you talking out here and I’m the real federal marshal. This man got the drop on me and took my gun and my badge. He killed a bunch of men and they’re all stuffed inside. One of ‘em is a deputy marshal.”
Bert bit his lower lip again. “Jeez,” he whispered, eyes shifting back and forth. “Is that true, Custis?”
“Hell, no! This is Ford Oakley and he’s wearing the handcuffs, not me. Have you ever heard of him?”
“Can’t say as I have.”
“Well,” Longarm said, “he’s cunning and I want you to stay out of harm’s way until I finish this business.”
Bert retreated, and Longarm returned all his attention to his prisoner. “All right, Oakley, lay down and stretch your hands above your head.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I’ll put a hole through your kneecap and then I’ll brain you again. Is that what you want?”
“Bastard!” Oakley spat as he knelt in the yard and then flopped forward, throwing his hands overhead.
Longarm put a knee to Oakley’s back and the barrel of his six-gun against the outlaw’s head. He looked over at Bert and said, “Do you have any rope? Good strong rope?”
“Yeah, but … but I need it!”
“So do I, dammit!” Longarm stormed. “Get the rope and I’ll pay you for that too.”
Bert hurried off, and Oakley turned his ugly face and said, “Maybe that fool really has struck gold, huh?”
“I sure as hell doubt it. Anyway, what business would that be of yours?”
“We could make a deal,” Oakley suggested. “We could kill the fool and get rich!”
“Shut up!”
But Oakley couldn’t shut up. “Listen, Marshal, if we don’t take his gold, then someone else sure as hell will. He’s a trusting fool and so we might as well …”
Longarm grabbed Oakley’s hair and yanked back his head until the man’s mouth was hanging open. “I don’t want to hear anything more, you understand?”
“Bastard!”
When Bert returned with the rope, Longarm bound the outlaw up like a mummy. Oakley cried, “I gotta eat and drink something, Marshal! Otherwise, I’m gonna die!”
“He does look pretty bad,” Bert said.
“So do we,” Longarm snapped. “All right, give me a dipper and I’ll give him some water.”
“I ain’t got a dipper.”
“Fine,” Longarm said, rolling the killer over onto his back and grabbing the bucket. “Open your mouth, Ford!”
Ford opened his mouth and Longarm slowly poured most of the bucket into the man’s face. Ford began to sputter and cough. He rolled over onto his belly and choked, “Gawddammit, you’re trying to drown me!”
Longarm took his own drink. He looked at the cabin and then said, “Bert, let’s get that shoe tacked on and then I have another proposition for you.”
Bert appeared shaken. “You’re sure that you’re the real marshal?”
“Of course, dammit!”
“Then what’s the proposition?”
Longarm saw no easy way to say it. “I want you to bury four men. They’re getting pretty ripe.”
Bert turned ashen. “I couldn’t do that!”
“Of course you can. You have a pick and a shovel, don’t you?”
“Yeah, but…”
“Bert, I’ll pay you real well.”
Bert gulped, his Adam’s apple bouncing up and down. “How … how much?”
