They rode into the grove of trees and dismounted. They loosened the cinches on their horses’ saddles, then took the bits out of the animals’ mouths and tied them to some low branches so that they could graze on what little grass was there. Longarm said, “They’re not going to have a real good night of it, but that can’t be helped. They got plenty of feed and water on the train coming up, so I guess they’ll just have to be patient.”
Fisher asked, “What about old Pedro there?”
“He’ll be going with us.” Longarm untied his saddlebags and slung it over his shoulder. He said to Fish, “I hope you brought plenty of ammunition.” Fish gave him a look. “Going out on a job with you? No, it never crossed my mind.”
Longarm chuckled. “I’ve got four boxes of .44-caliber shells.”
“I can match that and then some.”
“You got the grub?”
Fisher patted one pouch of his saddlebags and said, “I’m all set.”
Together they trudged out of the little copse of trees and walked over the sandy, rocky ground. Longarm carried his carbine in one hand and led Pedro with the other. When they got to the foot of the butte, they ranged left and right, looking for an easy trail up. There didn’t seem to be any. Longarm said, “Fish, why don’t you go on ahead and find the best route and I’ll try to follow you with this burro.”
Fisher said, “That burro is the one that ought to lead. I imagine he knows more about this kind of climbing than you and me.”
In the still cool of the night, which was getting colder by the moment, they began working their way up the butte. It was broad enough at the base that the first hundred feet or so were not much trouble. Pedro came along easily, having no trouble, even where the men’s boots slipped and they were forced to their knees. After that it was harder. Longarm and Fisher were reduced to leaving their rifles behind so that they would have their hands free to pull themselves along. At a height just below the crest, they found a wide ledge that looked out onto the flat land below. In the moonlight, Longarm could see the gleam of the narrow-gauge tracks. There was a jumble of rocks on the ledge between them and the edge, big enough to hide the burro and well-placed enough to give them shooting positions.
Longarm said, “This ought to do.”
Fisher said, “I’ll go back and get the rifles. You might want to get that donkey unpacked. By the way, where are the blankets? I brought three and gave them to that Eugene fellow down in Springer to go with some more that he had. Hell, it’s getting as cold as all get-out.”
Longarm said, “I don’t know. Maybe they’re packed in with that ice Pedro is carrying.”
Fisher gave him a look. “Oh, that’s a nice place to put blankets. On ice. That’s one hell of a way to keep warm. Someone ought to be proud of that kind of thinking.”
Finally, they established their camp under the protection of the rocks. Pedro stood patiently against the wall of the butte, perhaps grateful to have his load of ice removed.
Longarm had taken it off by himself, being extremely careful, calculating that it was the heaviest hundred pounds he had ever lifted in his life. He’d carried it away and put it behind a big boulder. He didn’t think that it would matter much if eight ounces of nitroglycerin decided to go off, but somehow having it out of sight like that made him feel better.
The blankets indeed had been packed on top of the ice. He’d taken them out carefully and then spread them on the rocks. Only the undersides of two of them were cold. They’d warm quickly.
Fisher said, “I don’t reckon we can make a fire.”
“No, I don’t reckon we can. What were you going to do? Fry that cheese or heat up a can of peaches?”
“I just find a fire sociable, Marshal Long, if it’s not too much trouble for you to comprehend.”
“Let’s get our bedrolls made and then settle down. You can sleep if you want to. It’s about eleven-thirty.”
Fisher said, “Strangely enough, I don’t feel sleepy.”
“You ought not to be hungry either. How many steaks did you eat back there at that cookhouse? Three?”
“Two. The same as you.”
“I didn’t know you were counting.”
They got settled under the night sky, each man taking three blankets. It had now turned seriously cool. Longarm calculated the temperature was in the low forties. If it had been noon, the temperature would have been nearly ninety degrees, but that was the desert for you. He knew it would get colder before dawn. For a time he sat, like Fisher, on one blanket with the other two shrouded over his shoulders. A thought occurred to him, and he went to his saddlebags and got out a bottle of whiskey and the slingshot. He went back and offered Fisher a drink.
This time Fisher said, “I believe I will. Of course, you understand, this is for medicinal purposes. To help fight off the cold.”
“Yeah, and rattlesnake bites.”
Fisher took a drink and passed the bottle back.
Longarm settled himself, had a drink, put the cork back in the bottle, and began examining the slingshot. There were a few small rocks lying nearby, and he put one in the leather pouch. He drew back the rubber bands and let fly into the night. He could see the stone curve well out into the flat land below. He lost it after it dipped below the horizon, but he could see that the slingshot was capable of carrying at least a hundred fifty to two hundred yards. It was going to make a very satisfactory weapon.
Fisher looked at him in astonishment. “What in the name of hell have you got there?”
“Ain’t you ever seen a slingshot before?”
“Yeah, I’ve seen a slingshot before, but I don’t recollect ever seeing a grown man with one, especially a grown man that’s out on some fairly serious business. Are you going bird hunting or squirrel hunting? What do you plan to
