She said, “It’s up to the Advertiser and Monitor whether they want to print my confession of stupidity or not.” Then she called, “Hey, Slats, get over here and let me give you back your money, you pouty thing!”
Then, as Longarm sat there smoking, Fox Bancroft divided the pile of wilted bills with as much skill and likely more honesty than your average banker might have managed.
As she did so, Deacon Knox was heard to plead, “Don’t put us out of business, Miss Fox! Your education ain’t cost you a thing, and where does it say you have to educate the rest of this wicked world?”
She coldly replied, “The Good Book. Thou shalt not steal or play with one-way decks. I just added that commandment because I doubt old Moses had anyone as sneaky as this lawman advising him about gents like you. I sure wish he’d been here the last time we rode in, you son of a bitch!”
Deacon said, “I want to make it up to you, pretty lady. So I’ll tell you what I’m going to do!”
But Fox Bancroft said, “I’ll tell you what you’re going to do. You’re going to get out of town. That’s all you can do for anyone as pretty and rich as I am. I’m giving you to the end of this month to find a buyer for this place and-“
“But I don’t own this place!” the tinhorn shouted as the barkeep wailed, “Neither do I! We’re working for Mr. Remington Ramsay, the owner of this whole business block!”
Fox Bancroft said, “Good! I’ll settle with that hardware monger later. There’s a northbound combination coming through tomorrow morning. Be on it when it leaves and we’ll say no more about it.”
Deacon Knox protested, “I have no call to travel north, pretty lady. As a matter of fact, I have some old enemies up that way and I’d as soon head for Ogallala and the U.P. Line if it’s all the same with you.”
The hard-eyed redhead rose to her full five-foot-six as she blazed, “It’s not all the same with me. I’ve given you cheating bastards more than enough time to pack your ill-gotten gains. By noon tomorrow I may not be the only one in these parts with a bone to pick with you. Would you rather take your chances with old enemies who may not have any call to expect you, or would you rather be here in Pawnee Junction when the Minute Men get word of your transgressions?”
Deacon said he was just leaving, and the worried-looking cuss on the far side of the bar said the last round of drinks would be on him if they didn’t mind his closing early.
As Longarm rose to stride over to the bar with Fox and all the others, she fixed her jade-green eyes on him to quietly ask when he might be leaving Pawnee Junction.
He locked eyes with her to say as calmly, “Hard to say. I figured on leaving when I was ready. Are you saying I ain’t welcome around your fair city, Miss Fox?”
The redhead leaned casually against the bar, replying, “It ain’t my fair city. I only own and operate the Diamond B and that’s enough to keep me busy, most of the time. To answer your question about the way I feel about you shooting my boss wrangler, I was at the inquest and I never told anyone to shoot up any boardinghouses or slap leather on a lawman with a rep.”
She suddenly smiled up at him, as if the sun had suddenly appeared in a cloudy sky, and added, “I can’t say I was feeling all that friendly towards you until you took my part and saved me so much money just now. It only cost me seventy-five dollars to have Porky buried in a nice box in ground I had to spare. So we’re more than even and you’ve nothing to fear from me or mine.”
Longarm said he wasn’t at feud with the Diamond B either. Then he tried, “Might you be in position to speak for those Minute Men, ma’am?”
The hard question didn’t shake her. Her voice was just as firm when she replied, “I have never run a brand or ridden anywhere with a sack over my head.”
He insisted, “That’s not what I asked, Miss Fox.”
She said, “I know what you’re asking. What my hired help, friends, and neighbors do on their own time is up to them. So when they hear how many of them might have been cheated by this bunch, there’s just no telling what they might decide to do about it. I’m in no position to give orders to anybody I don’t have on my payroll.”
“How many Minute Men do you have on your payroll?” he just couldn’t help from asking.
Fox Bancroft smiled right back at him and said, “I just said you and me were square. I never said I wanted to sell any kith or kin to the law. I told you it ain’t up to this girl whether they ride or not. So why don’t you take my advice in the spirit I sincerely mean it and get out of town before it’s too late?”
Chapter 15
Longarm lit the small lamp by the narrow cot in the cellar of the officially vacant library, and stacked his gun rig and hat atop stacked books before he sat down to light a cheroot and haul off his boots.
It had been a mighty long day, and he wasn’t looking forward to one as tedious. Common sense and likely Billy Vail were telling him there was nothing keeping him in Pawnee Junction. It seemed doubtful there’d be any damned conviction if he did discover more about the Minute Men. He’d have one hell of a time getting any member of that mob to testify truthfully against any pals who might still be alive. Folks who refused to name any members of the mob were already marketing the late Porky Shaw as the leader who’d done all the actual killing. What Billy Vail had said about trying to get the goods on a popular local gang had been all too true. Frank and Jesse were still at large, after all this time, because whole counties of Missouri folks just wouldn’t talk about who they might or might not have seen in church the Sunday last.
Gripping the cheroot in his teeth, Longarm undressed and got under the sheet and one thin quilt. But he stayed propped on one elbow as he smoked the cheroot down. He didn’t want to get too comfortable while he smoked in bed. He knew he shouldn’t be smoking at all. But he just wasn’t tired enough to let go all the way. He spied some books Ellen Brent had set atop the table for her own reclining reading. Longarm reached out and discovered one was a tract by Miss Virginia Woodhull, the exponent of women’s rights to vote and screw around just like men.
The other was an English translation of that Hindu Kama Sutra on the art of screwing. Illustrated. He’d thought little Ellen had seemed sort of flushed and out of breath when she’d taken so long to answer the door that time.
Longarm had read the same publication before. But he naturally thumbed through it to look at the pictures, being a man of normal manly tastes. He smiled fondly as he recalled poring over the Kama Sutra down Mexico way with a pal of the female persuasion who was game to try anything. They’d made dead certain that some of the
