wheezed from his lungs.
“He’s dead!” Rouse cried, looking stunned. “Judge Potter is really dead!”
Longarm felt for a pulse. “Yep,” he said with a barely suppressed grin, “the mean old bastard is finally dead and now he’s the one who will be judged.”
Rouse staggered backward and puddled into a chair. “I need a drink,” he whispered, pointing vaguely toward the judge’s fully stocked liquor cabinet. Longarm marched over to the cabinet, found a flask of what looked to be rye whiskey, and poured them both glasses.
“Salute!” he said gravely, handing the marshal a brimming full glass.
“Salute,” Rouse replied in a subdued tone of voice.
They drank, emptying their glasses, and when Rouse signaled he wanted a refill, Longarm thought, What the hell, why not? They drank several more rounds.
“Sorry you missed your train,” Rouse finally offered.
“That’s all right,” Longarm said, taking a cheroot from his pocket and stuffing it into his mouth. “Wasn’t your fault, exactly.”
“Thanks. I guess you aren’t too used to putting up with paperwork, huh?” Rouse said cautiously.
“Oh,” Longarm mused, splitting the last of the whiskey between them. “I’ve got my share of paperwork to do, but I sure never took statements when someone shot someone else in order to protect their life.”
“Judge Potter was a stickler for that,” Rouse said, his voice thickening as he stared at the dead man. “I guess now I’m probably going to have to leave this job.”
“How’d you get it in the first place?” Longarm asked. “I mean, no offense, but you don’t really seem to be cut to the mold of a lawman.”
“Well, I’d have to agree with that,” Rouse said. “Mainly, I just was trying to impress a town girl. But she married someone else anyway, so I guess that didn’t work.”
“I guess not,” Longarm agreed. “And speaking of girls, where does Miss Riley live?”
At the mention of her name, Rouse’s nose wrinkled with disgust. “You don’t want anything to do with her!”
“I take it that you don’t exactly hold each other in high regard.”
“You could say that again,” Rouse snapped. “She thinks I’m worse than dog-shit!”
“Naw.”
“It’s true!” Rouse exclaimed. “But it’s also true that no man could fill the job that her pa was forced out of because he got too old and blind. To her, Old Wild Bill Riley will always be the finest lawman that ever lived.”
“Well,” Longarm sympathized, “I can see how that could easily happen. But I’d still like to pay Miss Riley and her father a visit. He used to be a real fine lawman and we got along very well.”
“The old devil lives just south of town. Big ranch house with a front porch and a rooster weather vane on the barn. It’s faded brown, and there’s a tall cottonwood out front with a kid’s swing attached to it.”
“Megan’s kid?”
“Naw,” Rouse said, “it’s just some kid that lived there before ‘em and they never took it down. Bill Riley isn’t the kind of a man who puts much value in appearances, as you are probably aware.”
“Yes,” Longarm said, “I am aware of that. What does his daughter do?”
“She’s a worker,” Rouse admitted. “She breaks horses, mostly, but she also mends saddles and such.”
“That’s unusual for a woman.”
“She looks like a woman, but she swears like a ranch hand and she’s tougher than rawhide,” Rouse warned. “I tell you, if a man tried her on, he’d be in for a rough, rough ride!”
Longarm didn’t appreciate that comment, but Rouse was pretty drunk and obviously he’d considered the judge a friend, so Longarm guessed he’d let the crude comment pass. “Well, I guess I’ll go see them. How far south of town is the Riley place?”
“About a mile.” Rouse shook his head looking completely demoralized. “I guess I better go get the undertaker. Barney is going to be a happy man today, what with two bodies hitting the slabs at the same time. Everyone knows that old Judge Potter had a lot of money, and Barney will charge plenty to bury him and really put on the dog. Flowers. Big marble headstone with lots of poetry and carved angels and vines. You know, just everything including polishing up the big hearse and renting a pair of matched white horses.”
“I’ve seen it all, but I expect,” Longarm said, “that Fergus’s funeral will be a little less impressive.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Every man and woman in Reno hated Fergus MacDonald so much I’m sure that they’ll all come to see him planted.” Rouse sighed. “I’ll have to agree with Megan that killing him was a blessing for our town.”
Longarm headed briskly for the door, but when he stepped out onto the judge’s porch, the heat made his head spin a little.
“Whew!” he exhaled. “Is it ever going to cool down?”
“I sure hope so,” Rouse said, coming outside to join him. “But old Barney is going to have to plant both the judge and Fergus tomorrow or they’ll raise quite a stink.”
“I expect so,” Longarm said, squinting and heading for the livery to rent a horse.
He rode up to the Riley place less than an hour later on a sorry-looking strawberry roan horse that only cost him a dollar to rent for the remainder of the day. Dismounting, Longarm tied the pathetic, swaybacked beast to the
