“You’re right, of course, Senator …”
The two of them disappeared back into Padgett’s room. Longarm went into his own room, closing and locking the door behind him. He blew out the lamp so he wouldn’t be silhouetted. Then a quick look out the window told him how Rodriguez had gotten into the room. A knotted lasso hung out there, leading up to the false third floor. Rodriguez had climbed onto the roof, tied the rope onto something, placed it through the window above Longarm’s in the building’s false front, and climbed down hand over hand. Longarm took his own folding knife from his pocket, opened it, and cut the rope as high up as he could reach. Then he closed the window, took off his boots, coat, vest, and tie, and stretched out on the bed. He had seen Janice and Julie Cassidy in the crowd downstairs and had met their eyes long enough to assure them that he was all right. He hoped they wouldn’t wait until later and then show up at his door expecting a few hours of romping. Not that such a prospect wouldn’t be delightful—most of the time. Tonight, though, Longarm wanted to think.
He would have sworn that the bad blood between him and the two Mexicans had been put aside following the fight in the cantina. At least, enough so that Rodriguez shouldn’t have been lurking in his hotel room waiting to ambush him.
But there was nothing saying that Rodriguez couldn’t have had another reason for trying to kill him. An even better reason. A hundred better reasons, come to think of it, because while Longarm was willing to let Deputy Bullfincher believe that the money Rodriguez had been carrying had come from a stagecoach holdup, Longarm didn’t think that was the case at all. It was blood money, paid for his blood. He was certain of it. The bills had told him something else too.
For the first time, he was absolutely sure that his hunch had been correct. He was on the right trail.
And from here on out, it would probably just get more perilous.
As Deputy Bullfincher had predicted, the coroner’s jury found that Longarm had acted in self-defense in the killing of Rodriguez, and they stopped just short of congratulating him for a job well done.
Longarm headed for the racetrack as soon as the inquest was concluded. Senator Padgett was anxious to get out there and see how preparations for the race were going. Cy had put Caesar through some practice runs early that morning, and O’Malley reported that the times had been good. “The track’s fast today, Senator,” the Irishman said. “‘Tis a good feelin’ I be havin’ about this race.”
“I hope you’re right,” Padgett said. “I’m ready to win one for a change.”
Longarm found himself cornered in the paddock by Janice and Julie. “What in the world happened last night?” Janice demanded. “We heard a lot of shooting, and everyone said that you were involved.”
“They said you killed a man,” added Julie.
“I’m afraid that’s right,” Longarm said. “Didn’t have much choice in the matter. He was trying to kill me at the time.”
Janice shuddered. “I’m getting a little tired of the West. It’s so violent out here!”
“It can be,” admitted Longarm. “A lot of people are working to make it less dangerous, though.”
“Including you,” said Julie. Longarm acknowledged the comment with a nod and a half-shrug.
Janice linked her arm with his. “I’ll be glad when we reach Denver. At least it’s a civilized town!”
Longarm didn’t bother mentioning all the times he had come too damned close to getting killed right there inside the city limits of Denver. If Janice wanted to believe it was a civilized place, then so be it. He was more concerned at the moment with the way her breast was pressing softly and warmly against his arm. Julie took his other arm and leaned into it. “Walk us to Matador’s stall,” Julie said.
“My pleasure, ladies.”
And it was, just as it was his pleasure to eat lunch with them in the clubhouse a little later. Senator Padgett and Leon Mercer joined them, of course, as did the other owners. Longarm had met all of the other men at least briefly during the trip; Janice and Julie were the only females on the racing circuit this time around. For the rest of the day, Longarm paid more attention to the other owners, watching them closely, engaging them in idle conversation. They were a diverse group, as might have been expected. Three of the men were from Texas, two each from Louisiana and Kansas, and one apiece from Arkansas, Iowa, and Kentucky. Senator Padgett’s home state of Colorado was the farthest west of any man’s in the bunch. That didn’t surprise Longarm. Western horses were bred more for short, fast bursts of speed as they worked cattle, so that was what Westerners knew best. The long- legged thoroughbreds that ran the longer distances came mostly from the South and East, although like everything else in the country, they were spreading west.
By and large, the owners were a friendly group and got along well despite the natural rivalries. Longarm didn’t sense any real bitterness among them, certainly nothing that would lead to violence. Of course, he wasn’t expecting to find anything of that nature. He was on the trail of cold-blooded greed, rather than hot-blooded anger.
As he watched the race later that afternoon from Padgett’s box, Longarm began to worry that the senator would have a fit of apoplexy and fall down dead. Padgett was that excited as he jumped up and down, screaming and red-faced, while the horses swept around and around the track and Caesar gradually pulled ahead of the others. Longarm was no expert, but as far as he could tell, Cy was riding the ride of his life, doing everything right and not making a single wrong move. By the time the horses began flashing across the finish line, Caesar was a full three lengths ahead, the clear winner.
Padgett whooped and embraced Leon Mercer, jerking the smaller man off his feet in his exuberance. “We won, Leon, we won!” shouted Padgett.
“Indeed we … did, sir,” Mercer gasped. “I’m sorry, sir, but I … can’t breathe!”
Padgett released his assistant and turned to Longarm, who stopped him by holding up a hand. “I’m happy for you, old son, but don’t even think it,” Longarm warned.
“All right, but I’m buying all the drinks!”
Longarm grinned. “I got no problem with that.”
The three of them began making their way down toward the winner’s circle. Longarm also wanted to find the Cassidy sisters and congratulate them on Matador’s third-place finish. He knew they needed some wins in order to accumulate enough prize money to get their ranch back on its feet, but at least they had finished in the money in this race.
