“Then how is the horse hunting?”
“is good, when damn whites stay away from our land and the big mountains.”
Longarm knew that “the big mountains” were the Ruby Mountains. He nodded with sympathetic understanding, and went to unsaddle his horse. But it was gone, and his saddle had been neatly placed under a pinyon pine. A young boy that Longarm judged to be about eleven years old stood guard, and Longarm went over to offer the kid a reward for his diligence and initiative.
“Thank you for unsaddling my horse and watching over my things,” he said, knowing it was not necessary because no Indian would insult his fellow tribe members by doing the unthinkable of stealing from a friend and a guest.
The boy beamed.
“What’s your name?”
The boy raised both hands upward, palms to the sky. He shrugged his shoulders, clearly not understanding the question.
“My name is Longarm,” Longarm said, pointing at himself.
“Raul,” the boy said, picking up Longarm’s meaning.
“Are you a son of George Two Ponies?”
The boy was confused again because he did not know the meaning of the word son and Longarm, dammit, could not think of a way to convey this meaning.
Longarm smiled at the kid and dragged some change out of his pockets. He extended it to the boy, who took the money, then smiled and handed it back.
“Then how about this,” Longarm said, finding a piece of hard candy that he’d bought in Denver but had never gotten around to eating.
The boy took the candy and his eyes gleamed. He popped it into his mouth and grinned, then turned and went back into the camp and disappeared into George Two Ponies’ hut.
“Yep, he was the son,” Longarm said, untying his bedroll and spreading it on the ground.
Longarm was dog tired and he really was looking forward to sleeping under the stars, although the night would turn quite cold. No matter, he thought. His suit, his bedroll, and his horse blanket would be plenty enough to keep him warm.
In the morning, Longarm awoke to the feel of George’s moccasined foot prodding him in the side. Longarm started, then sat up and knuckled his eyes. It was very cold, and a stiff wind did not make things any more comfortable.
“What?” Longarm asked.
“You give rifle and we go now.”
“Good,” Longarm said, “but can’t we go into your hut first so that I can thaw out?”
George shook his head. “Go now.”
“All right, but first I need to find some different clothes. And I need to color my hair black, like yours. Did I tell you all this yesterday?”
“No.”
“Well, I’m supposed to look rough, like a mustanger-” Realizing that he was very nearly insulting his host, Longarm quickly took a different angle. “I need to trade clothes and boots.”
“Hat too?” George said hopefully.
“No!” Longarm lowered his voice. “Not the hat. Everything but this hat.”
George took that bit of bad news without comment. He wheeled around and stomped back to his hut and Longarm, stiff, cold, and blowing into his frozen hands, followed.
Two hours later, Longarm had his black hair and old clothes. Had the weather been warm, he would have insisted that the clothes be boiled before he wore them because they would most certainly have been infested with body lice. But the weather was cold and the clothes were without lice. Just before leaving, Longarm tramped over to the lake and stared at his reflection in its cold, gray surface.
“Yep,” he said, to himself, “I look rough enough to be an outlaw on the run or a mustanger. I look like anything but a lawman.”
Longarm left his Ingersoll watch and derringer in George’s hut. He hated to do that, but the type of man he was supposed to be would never carry a nice railroad pocket watch and gold watch fob.
“Let’s go,” he said to George. “Just show me my horse.”
“That one,” George told him, pointing to an ugly black gelding.
“He looks like a hard traveler.”
“Is.”
“Then how about something a little better?”
“No,” George said with finality. “If bad man kills you, then takes your horse, maybe bad horse kill him some day.”
“How comforting,” Longarm said, reaching for his saddle.
Fifteen minutes later, they were riding out of the Paiute camp, heading southeast to intersect the Tinckee River
