“There was some gunfire,” Padgett admitted, “but Marshal Long here frightened off the man who was shooting at us.”
Cy gulped. “Lordy! You mean somebody tried to assassinate you, Senator, like that actor fella did to old Abe?”
Padgett grimaced in irritation. “No, I’m certain it was nothing like that,” he said. “You go back and tend to Caesar, Cy. You didn’t leave him just standing on the track in the sun, did you?”
“Well … when I heard the shooting, I figured I’d better see what was going on.”
“Damn it, man,” Padgett barked, his face flushing angrily. “You can’t just leave a fine horse like Caesar standing there when he’s hot and sweaty. Get him back to the stable and rub him down, for God’s sake!”
Cy nodded jerkily as the harsh words lashed at him. “Yes, sir, Senator. Right away.” He turned and practically sprinted back toward the track.
Padgett sighed wearily and turned toward Longarm. “I suppose we’ll have to report this incident to the authorities.” His angry reprimand of Caesar’s rider seemed to be already forgotten.
“Yep, the Albuquerque police will have to know about it,” Longarm said. “I reckon I ought to send a wire to Billy Vail and let him know what happened too.”
“Is that really necessary ?”
Longarm chuckled humorlessly. “You know Billy, Senator. He won’t take it kindly if he hears that one of his deputies was mixed up in a shooting with somebody who tried to assassinate a United States senator and said deputy didn’t report it his own self.”
Padgett frowned and said, “Yes, I suppose you’re right. I don’t much like that word ‘assassinate,’ though.”
“You’re a public figure, Senator. Like it or not, that’s what happened here today.”
“Very well. You’ll take care of notifying Marshal Vail and the local authorities before you get started on your own mission once again?”
“Sure,” Longarm said with a nod. “I’ll get a wire off to Denver first thing. Then I’ll go see that Captain Bishop. I’ll bet he’s getting a mite tired of seeing me, since there’s always some sort of trouble involved when he does.”
“That’s his job,” Padgett said curtly. “He’s paid to handle trouble.”
“Yes, Sir,” agreed Longarm. “He sure is.”
And so was a United States deputy marshal.
“Son of a bitch!” Longarm said as he slapped the open palm of his left hand on the counter in the hotel lobby. His right hand slightly crumpled the yellow telegraph flimsy the clerk had just given him.
The desk clerk swallowed and worked up the nerve to ask, “Bad news, Marshal?”
“You could say that,” Longarm replied. He fished his watch out of his vest pocket, flipped it open, and checked the time. It was almost six o’clock. “When does the southbound train for El Paso pull out?”
“Why, six-thirty, I believe. If it’s on schedule, and it usually is.”
“Get my bill ready,” muttered Longarm. “I’m leaving.”
He jammed the telegram into his coat pocket and turned toward the stairs. When he reached his third-floor room, he began packing. That didn’t take long, since all he had was a few spare clothes, which he stuffed in his war bag, and his Winchester. He had the bag slung over one shoulder and the rifle canted over the other when he came downstairs again. Paying the bill prepared by the clerk took only a moment, and then Longarm strode out of the hotel and headed for the railroad station.
It was only six-fifteen when he got there. The sun was still up, although it rode low enough in the western sky so that its light had taken on a rosy hue. Smoke puffed from the diamond stack of the big locomotive as porters loaded baggage and passengers boarded. As he looked down the line of cars, Longarm saw that ramps had been lowered from several of them to the ground alongside the tracks. Those were the cars where the racehorses, including Senator Padgett’s Caesar and the Cassidy sisters’ Matador, would be loaded for the trip to El Paso and the next stop on the racing circuit.
Longarm walked through the station lobby and onto the platform, looking for Padgett. He spotted the senator climbing the steps to one of the passenger cars, followed by his assistant, Leon Mercer. Longarm’s hands were full, since he was carrying both his war bag and the Winchester, so he settled for calling out, “Senator!”
Padgett stepped up onto the platform at the rear of the car and looked back to see who was hailing him. A look of surprise appeared on his face as he recognized Longarm.
The rangy lawman’s long legs carried him across the station platform and up the steps of the railroad car. Padgett said, “What are you doing here, Marshal? I didn’t think you were leaving Albuquerque just yet.”
“Neither did I,” Longarm said curtly. He set his war bag on the car’s platform and pulled the telegram from his coat pocket. “But that was before I got this.” He held out the yellow flimsy to Padgett. The politico took the message and read it:
IN LIGHT OF ATTEMPT ON SENATOR PADGETT’S LIFE NEW ORDERS ARE AS FOLLOWS STOP YOU ARE ASSIGNED TO SENATOR AS BODYGUARD UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE STOP PROTECT LIFE AT ALL COSTS STOP VAIL U.S. MARSHAL DENVER.
Padgett looked up at Longarm with a confused frown on his face and asked, “What does this mean?”
Longarm figured Padgett knew what it meant just as well as he did. “It means I’m going with you to El Paso, and then on to Tucson and Carson City and wherever the hell else that racing circuit you’ve joined up with is going. Unless and until Billy Vail decides otherwise, that is.”
“But … but I thought you were going after those men who murdered your fellow marshals.”
“So did I,” Longarm said grimly. “I thought about sending a wire back to Vail and telling him I wasn’t going to do it, but I knew if I did, I might as well go ahead and take my badge off for good.” He shook his head. “After I thought about it for a while, I figured I wasn’t ready to do that.”
