“It will,” Longarm agreed. “Are the mustangers still working the Ruby Mountains and bringing in a lot of wild horses?”
“There’s still a few left,” Jake said, “but not near as many as a couple years back. What we have now are the Indians who have pretty much taken that business over. They’ll stay out in the brush and are happy just to catch a dozen mustangs all summer. They break ‘em to ride and then sell ‘em to the army and to the locals. What they can’t sell because they’re runts or cripples will be sold to the meat buyers who ship them east for dog food. I hear tell that the folks in Europe eat horsemeat like it was a delicacy.”
“I’ve also heard that,” Longarm admitted. “But I sure can’t imagine a man eating a horse unless he was starving.”
“The Apache like horses and mules better than cattle.”
“Yeah,” Longarm said, “but the Apache have been known as being picky about anything.”
Longarm ordered a second round of drinks for himself and Jake. They sipped this round and talked about things of general interest, mostly the weather and the politics of the state of Nevada and nearby Utah.
“I might sell out and move over to California one of these days,” Jake confessed. “If I can find a buyer with enough cash money.”
“Why would you want to do a thing like that?” Longarm asked. “You have a fine reputation and a nice little business.”
“Sure it is, but about once a month we have a real bad brawl in here. Cowboys get liquored up and start to raise hell. They bust the place up.”
“Don’t you make ‘em pay for the damages?”
“I try to, but they’re always broke. We haul them off to court, but they choose jail rather than pay fines. I’m the one left holding the empty bag, and that can be expensive. And then too, one of these times I just might catch a stray bullet.”
“That can happen,” Longarm said. “What about Marshal Todd? Doesn’t he keep a lid on the troublemakers?”
“Oh, he tries,” Jake said. “On Saturday nights he comes around, and he’ll haul the worst of ‘em out of the saloons and lock them in that little rock house jail. But as soon as he’s made his rounds, the bad apples left behind just get rowdy all over again. And Marshal Todd is no spring chicken. He goes to bed at nine o’clock every night, and it better be an emergency before you dare to roust him out.”
“He needs to hang it up and retire. I like Todd, but he must be what? Mid-sixties?”
“Seventy-three,” Jake said. “Mike Todd was a real town tamer in his younger days, but they are long past. I hear he cleaned up Abilene so fast that the bad ones were bailin’ out of there like ticks off a dying dog. He went over to Bodie, California, and damned if he didn’t do the same thing there. He’s tough, but too damned old.”
Longarm had to agree. It was amazing that Todd was still alive considering that he was constantly being forced to arrest men young enough to be his grandsons. Todd was a veteran and plenty careful. He knew all the tricks and never bullied, blustered, or forced men to violence. But still, men did get liquored up and crazy, and Mike Todd was too damned old and slow to brace them and expect to come out a winner.
Longarm had another drink, and then he played a few hands of poker with a couple of cowboys. From them, he learned that the rains had been good in the spring and the grass had been better than it had been in years.
“If we have another couple of good years,” one cowboy said with a slow grin, “we might even be able to start feedin’ ourselves and our poor horses.”
Longarm chuckled. “You boys look well enough fed to me.”
“And you look a little lean,” the cowboy said. “What’s the matter, the government been cuttin’ your wages?”
“Nope, they’ve been running me too damned hard.”
Longarm was about to say more when he heard a cry and suddenly Lady Caroline burst breathlessly through the doorway. “Marshal, come quick!”
Longarm bolted out of his chair. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Irma. A couple of men are accosting her!”
Longarm wasn’t exactly sure what Caroline meant by the term “accosting,” but he figured it meant something like giving Irma a bad time. In three strides, he was out the doorway and marching up the boardwalk.
Irma was fighting with a couple of big men who looked to be trying to drag her into an alley. Mrs. Addie was trying to help, but even as Longarm watched, one of the bullies slapped her so hard the poor old woman struck a hitching rail and crumpled to her knees.
“Hey!” Longarm shouted, bursting into a run. “Let go of that woman!”
When they saw Longarm, the two men released Irma and went for their six-guns. There was no hesitation on their parts and Longarm, coming on in full stride, was caught by surprise. He stabbed for his own six-gun as he skidded to a halt, but lost his footing and fell hard.
The two men opened fire, and Longarm rolled in behind a water trough. Cussing at his own helplessness, he dragged his gun out even as slugs sprayed wood and water. He raised his head and damn if one of the big son-of- abitches didn’t drill his new Stetson through the crown and send it flying.
Longarm cocked back the hammer of his gun and coolly shot both men through the chest even as they started to bolt and run for cover. It was over just that fast.
“You killed them,” Caroline said, rushing over to Longarm and biting her knuckles. “You shot them both dead.”
“damn right I did,” Longarm said, coming to his feet and marching over to help Mrs. Addie up. “Here,” he said to Caroline, “help your friend inside this store and find her a chair. Mrs. Addie looks pretty shaken up.”
