If Bill Fay couldn’t rightfully be considered one of Longarm’s close friends, then the town marshal at Bosler could certainly be called a damn close acquaintance. The two ace officers had known each other the better part of two years or more, and had been known to share a bottle and to dispute a deck of cards. Longarm not only liked Fay, he trusted the local lawman. Which was more than he could say for a good many men in much more exalted positions.
Bosler was essentially a set of railroad loading chutes with a handful of houses and businesses growing up around them. It was also closer to the Medicine Bow gold diggings than the town of Medicine Bow, a few miles back up the line. That seeming anomaly was due to the fact that the minerals discovery was named for the mountains in which the ores were found, while the town of Medicine Bow was named for … God knows what; it wasn’t anywhere close to the mountains of the same name. A stream, maybe. A legend. Or simply someone’s idea of a joke. Longarm never had quite been sure.
Whatever the answer to that mild imponderable might be, Longarm was relieved enough when the eastbound Union Pacific coach finally squealed and shook its way to a halt at the Bosler platform at 1:32 p.m. on Sunday afternoon.
“We’ll get off here,” Longarm told his traveling companions. “If either of you wants t’ run on ahead, feel free. After all, this might be your lucky day.”
Hancock eyed Longarm’s Colt and seemed disinclined to make a move that could in any way be interpreted as an attempted breakaway. Clementine Bonner’s veil kept Longarm from seeing where her attention lay. But he doubted that the woman had any illusions about gaining her freedom. Since the moment Longarm had gotten his carpetbag back some days ago, her footsteps had been limited to a maximum of nine inches per pace courtesy of a set of long-chain manacles that he’d pressed into service as petite and ladylike leg irons.
“Boy? You there.”
“Yes, sir?”
“D’you know Marshal Fay, son?”
“Yes, sir.”
“There’s ten cents in it for you if you find him and tell him Marshal Long needs his help.”
“Marshal Long, you said?”
“That’s right.”
“Ten cents?”
“Uh-huh. The gentleman here will pay you ten … no, make that twenty cents.”
“Twenty?” The kid’s eyes looked like they might cause something to rupture if they got any bigger.
“What do you think, Tyler? Is twenty enough, or should we-“
“Twenty cents, son,” Overton confirmed before Longarm could run it up any higher.
After the swooning kid had raced away in search of Bill Fay, the lawyer gave Longarm a look of feigned disgust, then began to laugh. “Where did I come in on this deal?”
“Hell, everybody knows lawyers are rich, Tyler. You can afford it.”
“And the government can’t?”
“Just trying to be a considerate public servant, Tyler, an’ no squanderer of your tax dollars.”
“Remind me to thank you sometime.”
“I’ll do that, Tyler.” Longarm grinned. “Count on it.”
The suddenly wealthy boy was back within minutes to report that Marshal Fay had been at Sunday dinner and would be along quick as he could get his boots and hat on.
Overton gave the kid a two-bit piece and drew a raised eyebrow from Longarm. After the ecstatic boy disappeared, the lawyer looked at Longarm and shrugged. “Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t have twenty cents in smaller change. All right?”
“Hey, I believe you.”
The kid had not been lying. Bill Fay turned up only a minute or so behind the boy. The town marshal, who had belly enough for several ordinary men, was wheezing and puffing but in good spirits.
“You look like you been running down fleeing felons, Bill,” Longarm said as he pumped the fat man’s hand.
“No felons around Bosler, Longarm. You know they’re all scared of my blinding speed.”
“Yeah, I’d heard that about you. Bill, this is Tyler Overton from Talking Water up in Ross County. Careful what you say where he can hear. He’s a lawyer an’ might try an’ hold you to your word.”
“Howdy, Tyler. Any friend of Longarm here is a man to not turn your back on. And all that kind of stuff.”
“My pleasure,” Overton responded.
“And what do we have here?” Bill Fay asked, eying the parties who were wearing steel.
“This lovely couple, that look like butter wouldn’t melt in neither one of ‘em’s mouth, are a pair o’ backshooters an’ murderers, is what they are. These two you really better not turn your back on. The woman there is the piano- wire garrote woman.”
“My, oh, my. The one from Nebraska?”
“The very same.”
Fay gave Clementine a positively luminous smile. “I’ve read so much about you, ma’am. Pleasure to see you in these, uh, circumstances. And the dandy gent?”
