had been provided by the Burdicks.
Moments after he did so he heard a sharp snapping report from somewhere not far off, and at practically the same instant felt a stinging sensation behind his right ear.
“Whoa, goddammit! There’s somebody in here” he called.
There was no response from outside, not even the sound of footsteps.
Peeved, Longarm felt behind his ear. His hand came away wet, and although it was too dark inside the outhouse for him to see, he knew good and well it was blood he was feeling.
Not much, though. A trickle, no more. He thought he could feel a small object that … “Dammit!” He jumped, but there really was no need. The thing he’d touched pricked his inquiring finger and stung the nape of his neck besides. Probing again, more cautiously this time, he managed to extract a pine splinter about three fourths of an inch long and tapering to a very fine point that had been buried in Longarm’s flesh just above the hairline.
He struck a match to examine the thing, and then used the light to inspect the side of the outhouse where the bullet—it pretty much had to have been a bullet—had come through the flimsy wall.
As nearly always, the inside surface was ripped wide open by the slug. The bullet had gouged a chunk out of the pine about half an inch wide and three or more inches long. But when he leaned close to thoroughly inspect the damage, Longarm could see that the entry hole on the other side of the damaged board was tiny. Perhaps as small as a .22 would have made, although in the soft pine it was impossible to judge that for sure. Longarm lighted the candle that was fixed to the front wall of the outhouse and quickly finished wiping, then pulled his pants up and carried the candle outside with him to get a better look at the bullet hole.
The wood of the outhouse was old and dry and easily shattered, so it was impossible for him to be sure of the size of the slug that had come inside. But he still thought it could have been something as inoffensive as a little .22. Not exactly an ideal weapon of choice for anyone with serious intent, so the incident was no doubt an accident. And someone, no doubt, had been startled as hell by Longarm’s shout when the splinter got his attention.
Still, both shooter and potential innocent victim had been damned lucky. The bullet had come in the side wall of the outhouse and passed directly above the pair of seats. If Longarm had been sitting upright instead of leaning forward to reach for the paper he could have been seriously hurt. And the fact that the shooting was accidental would not have made Longarm’s pain any less.
Fortunately, the outcome proved no worse than mild annoyance. Longarm returned the candle to its shelf inside the outhouse and blew it out, then went to wash up. While he was at it he washed the blood off his neck and pressed a fingertip over the slightly stinging wound where the splinter had struck, making sure the tiny opening clotted over and the bleeding stopped. Then he went back inside and slipped out of the rubber boots.
As far as he could tell all the other passengers and stage line employees were at supper, although there was considerable movement to and from the buffet serving table and a sort of fluid shifting about of people, so it would have taken a deliberate focus of attention to determine if everyone was in fact present.
Not wanting to embarrass anyone, Longarm waited until Howard Burdick headed for the kitchen on some errand, then followed the station manager.
“Yes, Marshal? Something I can do for you?”
“I was wondering, Howard, if you have kids.”
“What an odd question. But in fact yes, Jean and I have two daughters and a son. Our daughters are twenty and eighteen. Both are married. Ellie and her young man live in Illinois. He’s a printer by trade. And our younger girl Elaine is up in Virginia City. They’ve opened a store there.”
It wasn’t the girls Longarm was interested in, but he saw no reason to interrupt Burdick because of that.
“Both girls married very fine young men, we are glad to say. As for our son, Glendon is in Bitter Creek. He boards there so he can attend the high school there. We want him to complete high school at the very least. College too if he is willing to take it on. Jean and I have hopes of him becoming a doctor or a lawyer or something fine like that.” Burdick smiled. “Glendon himself has visions more on the order of being a cowboy. But then he is only fourteen. We’re sure his views will change as he gets older.” Longarm frowned.
“Is there something wrong with that, Marshal?” Burdick asked.
“Pardon? Oh, uh, no, o’ course not. An’ I’m sure you’re right. Boys grow up, thank goodness. I, uh, your son bein’ in Bitter Creek isn’t what I expected t’ hear, that’s all.”
He explained about the accidental shooting outside.
“What I figured,” Longarm said, “was that you folks had a son, all right, but that he was out there tryin’ to plink off some rats an’ wasn’t paying mind to where his bullets were going. But if the boy is down in town …”
“That really is odd, I grant you,” Burdick agreed. “Quite apart from Glendon not being here, we don’t have a rat problem. We used to until we got cats. Brought in two kittens, actually. That was several years ago. Now there are dozens of half-wild tabbies that live mostly in the bayricks and keep the rodents under control. And the owls and hawks and wild bobcats, of course, keep the cat population from getting out of hand. But … no, Marshal, there is no one around here who would have been shooting. Not at this hour when there is no light for target practice. For that matter, I don’t own a .22. When we did used to shoot rats, it was always with a small-bore shotgun and light loads. I’ve never owned a rifle of any sort and never a pistol smaller than a .44.”
“Damned strange, ain’t it?” Longarm asked.
“Yes, it most certainly is.”
“I, uh, don’t s’pose you noticed anyone leave the place after I did.”
“marshal, I’m sorry. But the truth is that I never noticed you leave, much less anyone going out after you. Or before. It just wasn’t- …”
“Yeah. O’ course. Sorry. Look, I’m sure it was an accident. Could o’ been anything, someone walking out for a smoke or just t’ be alone for a few minutes, Coulda thought he saw one of those bobcats or coulda mistook one O’ your cats for a rat. For that matter coulda thrown a shot at a cat deliberately, just for the meanness of it. Likely we won’t never know. An’ it isn’t important. There was no harm done, so we won’t say nor do anything more about it, all right?”
“That is certainly fine with me if it is with you, Marshal. After all, you are the offended party.”
