said that he would eventually come to a bad end, and he did.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Molly said. “Let’s discuss another man that needs to be shot down.”
“You’re talking about Ford Oakley.”
“Of course. Is it true that you are taking him all the way to Denver for trial?”
“That’s right. He raped and then murdered a woman about your own age.”
Molly had been about to say something, but now she paused a moment before asking, “How did it happen?”
“The unfortunate victim was not a lady of great virtue,” Longarm began, choosing his words with care. “In fact, she was not a lady and she had no virtue. But she was a human being and Ford Oakley violently took her life.”
“How?” Molly whispered, leaning her chin on the back of her hand.
Longarm blew a cloud of blue smoke over her head. “Why do you want to know?”
“Because,” she said, “it could have been me.”
Satisfied with the answer and sensing its importance, Longarm decided to tell Molly the rest of the tragic story.
“All right. Ford Oakley strangled the young prostitute in a drunken rage. They were in bed when it happened. I don’t know what she did—or didn’t do—that caused Oakley to go into a rage. It doesn’t matter. They had a fight. People in the rooms adjoining theirs heard the argument and then the woman’s terrified screams. One man ran downstairs to get help, but the hotel clerk was not about to interfere, and by the time the law arrived, the poor woman was dead.”
“Broken neck?”
“No,” Longarm said. “She was strangled and her skull was fractured in several places.”
Molly took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. Her next words were soft, but heavy with passion. “And that is why, Marshal, Ford Oakley doesn’t deserve to draw even a single breath.”
“He’ll hang,” Longarm said. “I promise you that much. And I’ve heard about what Oakley also did to your young friend, Paul Smith.”
At the mention of Paul’s name, Molly looked away in sudden pain. Instinctively, Longarm laid his hand on her arm to comfort the young woman.
“Think of it this way, Molly. Oakley is going to believe that he can somehow escape. He’s going to be so sure of that that when-“
“He will escape! As sure as day follows night, Oakley will figure out something to save his neck.”
Longarm leaned back in his chair. “He won’t escape. I would never allow that to happen.”
“You won’t have any choice. Marshal Long, you simply don’t know Ford Oakley!”
“You’re right,” Longarm said, wanting very much to reassure the distraught woman, “but I do know his type. You see, I’ve been hunting them down for years. I know how a man like him thinks. I am just as ruthless and determined to deliver him to justice as he is to escape. Even more so.”
Longarm leaned back in his chair and smoked for a moment, then continued. “Miss Bean, I have the great advantage of experience. Oakley has never had to travel under arrest, chained and guarded. I, on the other hand, have had to deliver dozens of killers to trial. I’ve seen every trick in the book. There is nothing that the man can do that would take me by surprise.”
“You’re much too confident.”
“I’m not,” Longarm argued. “I am aware that, if I relax my guard even a moment, Oakley will take my life. I know that I am only human and I can make mistakes.”
“You should shoot him at the first opportunity.”
“No,” Longarm countered, “I should not. That would be far too easy on the man.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that I’ve seen how men of this type behave, and I promise you that Ford Oakley will begin to lose all hope as we get closer to Denver. He’ll become more and more desperate, and I’ll probably have to pistol-whip him a time or two. By the time we arrive in Denver, he’ll be broken. He’ll have played all his hole cards and realized that all he held was an empty hand.”
“I want to go with you,” Molly said. “To make sure.”
“Not a chance.”
“I am going with you,” she vowed. “You’re taking the stage to Elko and from there you are boarding the train to Cheyenne. Both are public conveyances. You can’t prevent me from buying tickets on the same coach and train.”
Longarm had to admit that she was right. “Please,” he said, “just put Ford Oakley out of your mind. Give up the hatred. Be satisfied knowing that Oakley will swing from a noose until dead.”
She took a long, shuddering breath and then whispered, “I … I wish that I could believe that.”
“You can!”
“No!” she said with passion. “Not until I see it with my own eyes.”
Longarm gave up, but it was always a shame to watch a person suffer from hatred. “All right then,” he said finally. “What if I send you an invitation to the hanging. Or a telegram when justice has been carried out.”
