back to the Indians and trying to teach them how to farm and raise livestock.”
“I can’t imagine your wild Indians as farmers.”
“That’s the problem,” Longarm said. “They can’t either. They’re free-ranging hunters and they like to keep moving with the herds and the seasons. Unfortunately, our buffalo herds are about wiped out and the Indians are supposed to stay on their reservations.”
“It sounds as if they are probably quite unhappy,” Caroline said.
“That’s a fair statement.”
“Tell me about those scrubby mustangs,” Mrs. Addie said, interrupting.
“Well,” Longarm began, “like I said, those horses are free and rootless, like most Western men. And like the miners and the cowboys, the loggers and freighters, they’re a little rough-looking.”
“Jug-headed?” Mrs. Addie asked.
“Some are.”
“Runty?”
“They’re not nearly as tall as your English race horses,” Longarm admitted, “but a thoroughbred or an English saddle-bred wouldn’t last a month out on the dry and harsh ranges of Nevada where our own mustangs thrive.”
“Why not?” Caroline asked. “We have severe winters in England.”
“And I’ll bet you bring those fancy horses into the barn when the weather turns especially foul.”
“Yes, of course, but-“
Longarm thought he was probably out of line to interrupt even a lady, but he did it anyway. “Well, while your horses are in a barn munching oats, the mustang is suffering with ice in his ears and coat and his tail to the wind. He’s eating bark to stay alive and fighting off wolves and cougars that are trying to trap and pull him down in the heavy, driving snow.”
“I see your point,” Caroline said. “Yes, you are right, our English pure-breds would never survive given those cruel circumstances.”
“The mustang is small and often of poor conformation,” Longarm admitted, “but he’s tough, resourceful, and if you can find one young enough to break, they make wonderful horses with an endurance that is unmatched.”
“I do so want to see one,” Caroline gushed. “Is there any chance, Marshal, that you could be persuaded to escort us into the wild to view a band of these little horses?”
“I’m afraid not,” Longarm said, “though I’d like to. Fact is, I’ve got a job to do in Reno. But you can find any number of guides who would take you out to see the mustangs. Nevada is full of them.”
“Then we’ll do that!” Caroline said, her voice filled with excitement. “What do you think, Lucille?”
“I think it’s a crazy idea and that we ought to go straight on to San Francisco just as planned.”
“Oh.” Caroline’s spirits drooped noticeably. “Well, we’ll see.”
“It’d probably only take you a day or two at most to see mustangs,” Longarm said. “And maybe I could find a spare day and you could go with me, if you’d feel safer.”
“That would be wonderful!” Caroline exclaimed. “I mean, you are a real officer of the law, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
“Then I hope that we can do it.”
Longarm leaned back in his chair and felt positively wonderful. “Champagne?” he asked the ladies.
“Yes,” Mrs. Addie said with a fair degree of enthusiasm.
“I’ll have some too,” Caroline said.
“Porter?” Longarm called.
Arnold suddenly appeared. “Yes, Marshal?”
“Champagne all around, please.”
“Very good, sir.”
A few minutes later, Longarm raised his new glass of champagne. “To your health, ladies.”
“And to yours,” Caroline said, eyes shining with excitement as they drank the excellent vintage. “May I ask you one small question?”
“Of course.”
“Why aren’t you armed? We’ve seen several lawmen since leaving Omaha and they’ve all carried your famous six-guns. I hope that some bad man does not recognize and shoot you.”
“I don’t think there are many that travel the railroad as firstclass passengers, Caroline.”
“Perhaps not,” she said. “But I have read how little value some of your Western outlaws place on human life, and your vulnerability concerns me.”
“Then the next time we meet, I’ll be wearing my six-gun,” he told her. “The truth of the matter was that I felt it might alarm you ladies and so I left it in my compartment.”
“I’d like to see your big gun later,” Caroline said, looking quite excited. “Has it actually been used in a … how do you call it, a shootout?”
