Jelk had his English .455 bulldog. One of the engineers was carrying a pocket-model Colt, one of the short- barreled guard models with no sights and no ram for shell ejection, but a full .45 caliber in spite of its small size. And the little fellow with the cane had a positively wicked folding penknife with gold handles and a rusting blade. Those were the only weapons Longarm could find in the crowd.
There was no damned gun! Except … except someone had fired at him. With a gun.
Three damn times. There had to be an explanation. Of course there was. There was always an explanation. The only trick was finding out what the hell that explanation might be.
And in this case Longarm was beginning to think that the explanation, however logical and simple it might really be, was somewhere way over his head.
Maybe he was more tired than he realized. Not thinking straight. Or something.
“Aren’t you guys done in there yet?” George, the coach jehu, called from the doorway for probably the twelfth time. “Miz Burdick is getting upset about breakfast going so cold and her with still so many to feed.”
Longarm sighed. “Tell her we’re on our way, George.”
Hell, they might as well go eat. He wasn’t accomplishing anything in here.
“We can go now?” one of the engineers said.
“Yeah,” Longarm said in a low, defeated voice. “Everybody can go now.”
The men finished buttoning and tucking and made their way swiftly out of the hay shed and on to the station building, where their meal had long since been waiting. The men who’d slept in the other hay shed were probably finished eating by now and the food was no doubt as cold as a new-caught trout.
The only one of the other men who did not make a rush for the table, oddly, was Tyler Overton. He hung back.
“Yes? What d’you want?” Longarm demanded.
“I just wanted … I wanted to tell you that I harbor no grudge here. I understand.”
“You do?”
“You haven’t exactly been forthcoming about why you did all that, Long, but it doesn’t take any genius to work it out. Someone shot at you. And since I am the only one who really knows you, and knows why you are here and the mission you are embarked on, it’s only natural that I would be your prime suspect. Well, I just wanted to say that I understand. I’m sure I would come to the same conclusions if our situations were reversed. I don’t blame you and I don’t resent the search. And I … I’m not sure how you will take this, Long, but I mean it sincerely. If I can help in any way …”
Longarm gave the Talking Water lawyer a long, searching look. Then he scowled, as much in confusion as for any other reason. “Yeah. Thanks, Tyler.” He managed a weak smile. “I think.”
Overton nodded. “Like I say, Long. The offer is sincere. Any time. Any way I reasonably can.”
Longarm chuckled. “Now there’s a lawyer for you, all right. Even an offer like that you’re careful t’ qualify. Anything you reasonably can, huh?”
Overton laughed. “Really, Long. You can’t expect me to ignore years of careful training surely.”
“No. But if you weren’t the one shooting at me…”
“Then who could it have been? And why? Am I right?”
“Afraid so, Tyler. I reckon I’m ‘feared that you are.”
“May I make a suggestion?”
“Yeah, shoot.” Longarm grinned. “Figuratively speakin’, that is.”
“Let’s ponder those questions after breakfast, shall we? I for one am damned well hungry.” He patted his more than ample belly as a reminder that he was a trencherman of no small consequence.
“Yeah,” Longarm reluctantly agreed. “Reckon we ought to.”
Innate caution, though, made him hold back so Overton could take the lead on the way to the station building. Longarm had just established beyond any shred of doubt that the lawyer was unarmed. Even so …
Chapter 30
By the time Longarm and the lawyer joined the others inside the station building, everybody in the place knew about the gunshots that had, presumably, been directed at the deputy U.S. marshal during the night.
That was not the way Longarm would have preferred it. There are times—in fact, most of the time—when it is better to listen than to talk, he figured. And generally speaking, he would prefer to be the one to make any announcements or declarations concerning … well, concerning just about anything affecting him personally or the conduct of his job. He tried to be pleasant and friendly enough with anyone who would allow it. But he wasn’t much when it came to blabbing every thought that passed through his head.
It was damn sure too late for that here. As soon as he walked in he was greeted with sympathetic comments from some and by big-eyed looks from the rest of the folks who were stranded at Burdick’s station.
Howard Burdick himself was apologetic as hell about the whole thing.
“Hell, Howard, it ain’t your fault. And you didn’t do nothing. I know that. It was somebody sleeping in that same room with me that did the shooting. That leaves you and your missus out of it. And these ladies here an’ half the rest o’ the menfolk on hand.”
Telling that to Burdick was enough to remind himself of it. And remind him as well that the fact of the shootings being common knowledge among the others should have no ill effect. After all, the shooter—whoever the sonuvabitch was—knew that Longarm was alerted now. The futile search for the pistol in the hay shed had made sure the shooter was warned.
