reputed to be one of the finest mustangers in the state of Nevada.
“Good to see you, old friend,” Longarm said, dismounting from his rented horse to greet the Indian and his large family.
“Longarm,” George said, his round face breaking into a wide, toothless smile. “Hi-ya!”
Longarm and George Two Ponies shared pleasantries for about an hour while the rest of the camp gathered around to listen and visit. Then, Longarm was escorted into George’s wife’s hut, which was made of sticks, reeds, and mud. They ate fish, wild goose, and some roots that Longarm found tasted very much like spinach. After the pipes were smoked and as the hour of darkness grew near, Longarm knew it was time to explain his mission.
“I have come to see my good friend George Two Ponies for friendship first, but also for the reason of money.”
George, never one to avoid the white man’s money, leaned forward over his fire and peered through smoke at Longarm. “Tell me of this money thing.”
Longarm left out nothing. He was not surprised to learn that George had heard about the train robbery and the great amount of money that had been taken and still awaited recovery.
“We think it is a man named Killion. This man is very evil and he lives in a town called Helldorado, to the southeast two days ride from here.”
“I know this place,” George said, puffing his pipe and nodding solemnly. “it is bad.”
“Yes,” Longarm agreed, “I understand that Helldorado is a very bad place. This man, Matthew Killion, must be stopped. To do that, my friend, I have to get into Helldorado and they must think that I am evil, like them.”
“What do you want of me?”
“Take me there. I am going to be a half-breed. A mustanger, like you. We will take mustangs and they will not see that I wear a badge.”
George reflected on this for only about a second. “Killion kill George and take his ponies.”
“No,” Longarm said abruptly. “I promise that no harm will come to you.”
“Ponies?”
“If they are stolen or run off or any harm comes to you, I will pay for them all.”
George scowled as if he had bitten into a bitter root. Longarm knew that the Indian did not want to take his ponies into Helldorado, but that friendship also weighed very heavily.
“George,” he said, “I need this favor. In return, I will pay you one hundred dollars.”
Longarm wasn’t sure where he would get the one hundred dollars. He had some money, but not enough, not even if he sold his Winchester repeating rifle and his Colt revolver, Ingersoll pocket watch with attached derringer, and every other damn thing he owned. But somehow, Longarm knew that he would find a way to scrounge up one hundred dollars, which was chicken feed considering that ten thousand dollars in stolen money were the stakes being played for in this deadly game.
George passed his pipe to Longarm saying, “You pay half money now. George no run out on friend.”
“I know that,” Longarm said, “but I don’t have fifty dollars right now.”
“Then how you get one hundred?”
“I can send for it over the talking wire.”
“How do this?”
“It’s … hard to understand,” Longarm said, fumbling for words. “Actually, the money itself doesn’t come over the wire, just the promise to pay.”
“Who promise?”
“My boss, Marshal Billy Vail.”
“Maybe he bring money to George Two Ponies and make happy.”
“He’s too far away.”
“Then maybe should not give promise,” George said after long reflection.
“Look,” Longarm said, “I’ll give you my rifle. A very good rifle.”
When George remained wrapped in stony silence, Longarm reached into his pockets and pulled out a good folding knife and fifteen dollars. “My rifle, this knife, and money. What do you say, my friend. All this and more later only for helping me get into Helldorado without getting killed.”
“Maybe,” George said, coming to his feet. “Let you know tomorrow.”
Longarm knew better than to argue or to rush George. If he had learned one thing about Indians, it was that they did not tolerate being crowded into important decisions. They made their decisions very slowly and carefully, and often only after consultation with the other members of their tribe, with special consideration for their wiser elders. Longarm was sure that his offer would precipitate a tribal council meeting and that the matter would be debated most of the long night.
“I need an answer by sunrise,” Longarm told the Indian as he also came to his feet. “Yes or no. I need an answer by tomorrow at sunrise.”
George didn’t indicate that he had heard this deadline, but Longarm was sure that he had. He followed George outside and they stood in the sunset of the day, watching liquid gold stain the calm surface of Pyramid Lake.
“How has the fishing been?” Longarm asked as evening laid a dark blanket across the eastern hills.
“Ask wife.”
