Kirkwood was a nondescript-looking man in his forties. His face was lined and deeply tanned. He stood up and frowned. “You’re with the government?”
“They’re paying the feed bill,” Longarm said.
“Well then, they can pay it somewheres else,” Kirkwood snapped. “Last time some two-bit government official boarded his horse here, I got stuck with a piece of paper that I was supposed to send off somewheres in Denver and I never got any money at all!”
Kirkwood glared at Longarm. “You ain’t the fella that did that, are you?”
“How long ago was it?”
“Couple years. Was a big fella, like you. Said he was a marshal. Sort … you are him!”
“No, I’m not!”
“The hell you say! And you owe me for six nights’ board! Be … be three dollars and fifty cents interest on my money.”
“Go to hell,” Longarm growled.
“Pay him,” Megan ordered. “Pay the man or you’ll not have my horse to ride back to Reno.”
“Don’t tempt me,” Longarm said, digging into his pockets.
When he paid Kirkwood, the liveryman said, “I ain’t taking nothin’ but cash from you, buddy.”
“I ain’t your damned buddy.”
“Pay him three dollars in advance,” Megan said.
“And if I don’t, you’ll take your horse and ride back to Reno, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, then…”
“And you’ll never know what might have happened tonight.”
“Kee-rist!” Longarm groused, digging back into his pockets and forking over the money. “Megan, you’re pushing me to the limit.”
“Good.”
It took Megan another half hour before she was satisfied that her horses were taken care of well enough to leave. By then, Longarm’s gut was growling and he was just about ready to suggest that she find her own accommodations.
“Where is the U.S. Hotel?” she asked.
“Follow me,” he said, carrying his saddlebags, rifle, and canteen and letting Megan carry hers.
She followed him up the boardwalk, and the word of her passing swept through the rough saloons so that men set their drinks on the bar and came to admire her as she trudged along. Not a one of them missed the occasion, and it seemed to Longarm that they had to pass every drinking establishment on Main Street. There was the Payrole Saloon, the Rifle Club, the Cabinet, the Champion, Mark’s Saloon, the Bonanza, and the Sawdust Corner.
“Have you gawky sonsabitches got nothing better to do than to look at a sweet girl from Reno!” he demanded of one particularly rough and leering miner.
“Shut your mouth, cowboy,” the miner said. “I’m goin’ to make her acquaintance and-“
Longarm didn’t let the miner finish. He was a short, powerful sort with a scarred face and a jutting jaw. Longarm snapped the heavy barrel of his Winchester down sharply across the miner’s forehead, dropping him like a chopped tree. He stepped over the unconscious man and called back over his shoulder to Megan, “Come along, my dear. We’re almost to our room.”
Megan muttered something, but Longarm decided it was better that he had not understood. When they finally marched up to the registration desk, Longarm rapped it with his rifle barrel and then he shouted, “Anyone working here?”
A clerk jumped out from behind some curtains. He was a thin, elderly fellow with bat ears and bad eyes. He blinked myopically at Longarm and then he cleared his throat. “It wasn’t necessary to bang on our counter or shout, sir!”
“Sorry, but it’s been a long day for me and my wife.”
Megan inhaled sharply. “Your what!”
“My wife, dear. That’s you. Remember? How much is your best room?”
“A dollar a night.”
“That’s outrageous!” Megan cried.
The clerk blinked rapidly. He cleared his throat, drew himself up tall, and pronounced, “You are both more than welcome to find another establishment. There are many to choose from, and I’m sure that you will not mind their lice and bedbugs.”
“We’ll take a room here,” Longarm said.
“Payment in advance, please.”
Longarm turned to Megan and looked at her. “Did you have something else to say, dear?”
Her blue eyes were round. She opened her mouth to speak, then clamped it shut and shook her head back and
