gunnies and the others catch up with me. Otherwise …”
Kirkwood did not finish his sentence, but instead drew a long, dirty forefinger across his gullet, and that made his meaning plenty clear enough.
Shortly before midnight, Longarm tied his horse in an arroyo just a quarter of a mile north of the Savior Mine and its many large outbuildings. He briefly considered bringing a rifle with him, but then discarded the idea because he wasn’t going to be able to carry an unconscious Horace Leach and a rifle. No, he’d have to rely on his side arms.
“Just don’t start to whinnying,” he warned the sorrel gelding. “I’ll be back within an hour, I hope.”
Longarm’s single advantage was that the moon was only a thin wedge of light and the night was very dark.
There were even clouds in the sky to hide an otherwise brilliant field of stars. The Savior Mine was shut down for the night, and almost all the lights were extinguished.
Giving the sorrel one last friendly pat, Longarm struck across the sage-covered ground moving low but as fast as possible. His only immediate fear was dogs, but he doubted they would sound any alarm or warning since there were so many men coming and going on these premises. Longarm used one of the mansion’s lit upstairs windows as his beacon. Longarm figured that the upstairs room might well be where Horace Leach slept or fornicated with the prostitutes for which he apparently had such a large appetite.
Fifteen minutes later, Longarm was gliding across the mansion’s wide front porch and slipping through the front door. It didn’t even have a lock since Leach had three guards living in the mansion for protection. And Longarm, remembering that one of them was always supposed to be on alert, moved very quietly. His thinking was that, if he could find that single waking guard and put him out of commission until morning, he would have an excellent chance of abducting Horace Leach without any fuss or interference.
The night guard was sitting at a small table in the kitchen with a cup of coffee. His back was to Longarm as he read the Standard, Bodie’s thrice-weekly newspaper. Tiptoeing forward, Longarm silently drew his pistol, then laid a deep crease in the guard’s scalp.
The man pitched forward, striking his forehead on the edge of the table. His coffee cup spilled from his hand and shattered on the floor, raising quite a racket.
Longarm grabbed the unconscious guard’s collar. He thought he heard someone call from upstairs as he dragged the guard into a pantry and shut the door behind him. Longarm paused, listening. When he was sure that no one was coming, Longarm cleaned up the mess, disposed of it so no one would be suspicious for a while, and then headed upstairs to retrieve Horace Leach. Time, Longarm knew, was of the essence. Every minute’s head start that he could gain on Leach’s gunnies and anyone else who would be following would be to his great advantage.
“All right,” Longarm whispered as he mounted the stairs hearing a woman giggling and then a man’s raw laughter. “Here we go.”
Chapter 17
When Longarm pushed Horace Leach’s bedroom door open, he was not prepared for the scene that he saw. Leach was vigorously riding one prostitute while his face was buried in the crotch of a second who was standing straddle-legged on top of his bed. They were in such a frenzy of passion that none of them even noticed Longarm until he walked right up to the bed and jammed the barrel of his six-gun into Leach’s bony ribs.
“Party is over for tonight,” Longarm said, cocking his gun so there could be no doubt about his intentions. “So get your face out of her bush and all three of you climb off the bed.”
Leach was a man in his early sixties, tall, thin, and with a little potbelly. He wasn’t much of a figure of manhood either as he twisted around to gape at Longarm.
“Who …”
Longarm jolted Leach with a short but powerful left cross. The mine owner toppled over sideways and one of the prostitutes started to scream, but Longarm poked her in the fanny with the barrel of his Colt, saying, “You don’t want to make a sound or it could be fatal for all of us. Do you understand?”
The woman, a fat, buxom blonde, nodded her double chins. She was well past her prime. The other was dark- complected and coarse-looking, with several missing teeth. Leach had a lot more money than taste, Longarm decided.
“You women just get dressed. if you keep your mouths shut, we might all survive this evening.”
“Who are you?” the dark one demanded.
“I’m the one doing all the talking here, remember?”
The woman gulped. She was tough as a dried cowhide and not a bit afraid, but she was also smart enough to read a man and know when he wasn’t bluffing.
Leach was groaning and holding the side of his rapidly swelling jaw. His nearly hairless body was bathed in perspiration and his potbelly was heaving as if he’d run several miles. He disgusted Longarm, adding to the hatred Longarm already felt toward the mine owner for killing Kane and Ward. “Get dressed, Horace. We’re going for a long ride.”
The man tried to protest, but instead moaned piteously.
“I guess I broke your jaw,” Longarm said. “Too bad. Now, if you don’t want your neck broken as well, I suggest you just do as I say and no one will get hurt. Hell, we might even live to tell our friends about what happened tonight.”
“What about us?” the fat one demanded to know as she and her friend dressed.
“Well, you are a problem,” Longarm admitted. “I don’t suppose that I could trust you to just leave this place and keep your mouthes shut for about twelve hours.”
The woman’s hateful expression told Longarm that he couldn’t trust her to keep her mouth shut even twelve seconds.
“In that case,” Longarm said, “we’ll just have to tie you both up and leave it at that.”
