Matador, owned by the Cassidy sisters, finished second in the El Paso race, and Senator Padgett’s Caesar finished third. The third-place finish was enough to placate the senator somewhat, although he made it plain in his remarks to Cy and O’Malley after the race that he expected to win at least once before they reached the end of the circuit. For their part, Janice and Julie were thrilled that Matador had come in second. When Longarm visited with them right after the race, both young women kissed him soundly in their excitement. “If Matador can just win a couple of races,” Julie said, “we’ll have enough money to make the improvements we want to make on the farm.”
“We’ll have a start,” corrected Janice. “It’s going to take a lot of money to put the place back the way it used to be when Papa was alive.”
During the past couple of days, Longarm had spent as much time as he could with the Cassidy sisters and had learned how their father had established the horse farm in Missouri and how their mother had died when the girls were young. Janice had gone away to a fancy finishing school back East, while Julie had stayed on the farm to help their father run it. Things had gone downhill after he’d been kicked in the head by a balky mare and died shortly thereafter from the injury. Janice had returned from school to run the business end of the operation while Julie continued working with the horses. But they’d had a tough time making a go of it. Matador was the best colt they’d had so far, as well as their best hope of getting the farm back on its feet financially. Longarm wished them luck. If it came down to a close finish between Matador and Caesar, he was going to root for Matador. Padgett didn’t really need the prize money, at least as far as Longarm knew.
By nightfall, the owners, trainers, jockeys, and horses were all on a westbound train rolling across the desolate landscape of southern New Mexico, heading for Arizona and the racing circuit’s next stop in Tucson. The Apache Stakes, Senator Padgett called the race that evening as he and Longarm and Leon Mercer sat in the club car. Padgett had a glass of whiskey in his hand.
“I’ve heard of Apaches staking folks out, but it didn’t have anything to do with horse racing,” Longarm said dryly.
Padgett chuckled. “No, I imagine not. The only torture at this race will be waiting to see whether or not Caesar actually wins for a change.” A frown replaced the jocular expression on the senator’s beefy face. “If he doesn’t, I may have to give some thought to finding a new rider.”
It was typical of Padgett to place all the blame for Caesar’s showing in the races on Cy. The man wasn’t about to admit, even to himself, that the other horses might just be faster.
Padgett looked at Longarm and changed the subject by saying quietly, “It’s been several days now, and there haven’t been any more attempts on my life. When we get to Tucson, don’t you think you should wire Marshal Vail and see if he wants you to continue with this assignment?”
Longarm shrugged. “I’ll be checking in with Billy anyway. If he wants to pull me off this job, he’ll tell me.”
“I’m convinced that man in Albuquerque was simply demented. Obviously he hasn’t followed us.”
It was true enough that the few days in El Paso had passed quite peacefully, with the exception of the gunfight in the Crystal Star saloon—but Padgett didn’t know anything about that. It hadn’t had anything to do with the assassination attempt in Albuquerque.
While it was true that Padgett was probably in no danger of anyone taking a shot at him, Longarm wasn’t ready to give up yet on the job that had brought him here. There were still things to learn, and he intended to dig them out. He knew Billy Vail would agree with him.
Longarm had been able to get together intimately with Janice and Julie Cassidy once more while they were in El Paso, but there was no opportunity to do so on the train. It arrived in Tucson around the middle of the next day, and as had happened before, Padgett, the Cassidy sisters, and the other owners went first to the racetrack to make sure their horses were safely delivered to the stables. After that, it was back to the hotel where the parties were staying.
Tucson was still more of a frontier town than El Paso, though not as boisterous as its neighbor to the southeast, Tombstone. Longarm had been there many times before and knew about the settlement’s remaining rough edges. If there was going to be trouble, Tucson would be a good place for it to happen. He would have to keep his eyes open and be extra alert.
The hotel was one of the few frame buildings in town. Nearly every structure was made of adobe bricks left their natural color, so the overall effect from a distance was one of the buildings blending into the ground. The hotel rose two stories, with a false third floor on the front, which made it stand out even more from the squat, square buildings around it. The lumber to build the hotel had been hauled in by wagons from the heavily timbered slopes of the mountains that rose in the distance. Those pines had also furnished the planks that had been used to build the grandstands around the racetrack. Like many things in Tucson, the track and the stands were spanking new. There had been a settlement here for many years, ever since Spanish explorers in search of treasure had come through the area and founded the original town. None of the walls from the Spanish settlement still stood, but its influence continued to be felt. There was a sleepiness, a lassitude, in the hot midday air that practically cried out for a siesta.
Senator Padgett wasn’t particularly interested in a nap, however. He said to Longarm as they entered the hotel, “I want to see one of those Mexican cantinas. I’ve heard about them, but I’ve never seen one for myself.”
“I’m not certain that would be a good idea, Senator,” Leon Mercer said from behind them. “I’ve heard that such places can be rather, ah, dangerous.”
Padgett turned to the aide with a disgusted look. “That’s why I’m going to take Marshal Long with me,” said Padgett, waving the unlit cigar in his hand at Longarm. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to, Leon.” He paused, then added, “If you’re scared to go.”
There were plenty of times when grown men acted just like little boys, Longarm reflected, and he supposed he was as guilty of that as any other man. He waited to see if Padgett would resort to the infamous double-dog dare to get Mercer to accompany them, but it proved to be unnecessary. Mercer sighed and said, “Very well. I’ll go with you. But don’t blame me if some … some bandido sticks a knife in your ribs, Senator!”
Padgett guffawed and slapped Mercer on the back, staggering the smaller man a little. “That’s the spirit, Leon! Don’t worry, though. Marshal Long won’t let anything happen to me.”
The senator was a mighty confident hombre, thought Longarm. He hoped that confidence was well placed as they went in search of a cantina.
At this hour of the day, the settlement was quiet, baking in the heat of the noontime sun. Longarm didn’t care much for this impulse of the senator’s, but he supposed that if Padgett was bound and determined to visit a cantina, this was as good a time as any. They would be less likely to run into trouble now.
