time before.
Not that he was standing there thinking all this through, though. By the time he consciously realized the importance of the sound, he was already burrowing face-first into a snowdrift piled against the north wall of the alley and already had his revolver in hand.
Drifted snow made a damn poor barrier against gunfire, so he didn’t tarry.
He came rolling back onto bare, frozen earth with the Colt pointed more or less in the direction from which the shot was fired.
More or less, that is, because it was all blind guesswork. Literally blind guesswork. Longarm had a face full of snow that was packed thick on his eyes and in his nose and had the same sharp, ozone smell as winter air.
He spat and pawed the snow off his face and blinked wildly as he rolled first one way and then the other, trying to keep the ambusher from getting any luckier with a second shot.
The sonuvabitch fired again, sending up a spray of ice chips and dirt from just to Longarm’s left, but this time the gunman’s target was face-on to him, and this time Longarm had vision enough to see the muzzle flash from the side of the building at the far back end of the alley.
Longarm snapped a shot off in return, swiped impatiently at the small clods and loose dusting of snow that continued to hamper his vision, then took more careful aim and blew some splinters off the wood trim at the back of the building.
There was no howl of pain and no satisfying thump of a body hitting the ground, so he had to figure he’d missed.
But he bet he’d come close enough to make the crotch of the bastard’s britches wet.
He rubbed at his eyes again and, able to see clearly, rolled quickly to his right and sprang onto his feet.
There was no movement at the far end of the alley. Close and cautious inspection disclosed that the gunman, whoever the son of a bitch was, had given up, at least for the time being.
Longarm stood in the lee of the structure that had sheltered the ambusher and gave the matter some serious thought while his hands were occupied with reloading the big .44.
When he was done he had reached two conclusions. The first was that the gunman—he thought he knew who it pretty much had to be—would not likely make a second attempt on his life. The second was that, all in all, it really wasn’t such a bad thing that the asshole had tried to back-shoot him. Not, that is, since he’d missed.
In fact, dammit, the incident could turn out to be a downright positive event.
With a grunt of satisfaction Longarm returned the Colt to its holster—discovering as he did so that he’d snatched the gun out so fast and so automatically that he’d torn a button off the belly of his coat while he was at it—then headed off in the direction of Kittstown’s business district.
Chapter 16
“Afternoon, Mr. Mayor,” Longarm said, closing the storm outside and removing his hat and gloves. The inside of the mercantile was oppressively hot. Which seemed mighty comfortable after spending so much time out in the blizzard that continued its efforts to bury southern Wyoming.
“Deputy,” Parminter said by way of greeting.
“You open for business, Mr. Mayor? I need a button to go on this here coat.”
“I’m sure I can find something for you.” Parminter fetched a wooden box down from a shelf and began rummaging through it. Longarm stepped closer, and saw that it was a box of mismatched buttons ranging from tiny collar buttons to tough shoe buttons and up as large as some huge, decorative buttons. The materials used were almost everything: horn, bone, antler, tortoise shell, assorted metals, even a few gleaming bits of abalone.
“I think this one might match,” Parminter suggested.
“Close enough.” Longarm dropped the button into his pocket. “Thanks. How much do I owe you?”
“No charge. Glad to help. Uh, I’ve been hearing that you are looking into that girl’s death. Is that true, Marshal?”
“Into the murder, you mean?”
“Murder, accident, whatever.”
“I’ve asked a few questions, that’s all.”
“You know, of course, that you have no jurisdiction here,” the mayor reminded him. “Not unless I specifically ask for your help.”
“Is there something about this that you wanta hide, Mr. Mayor?”
“Of course not. I just don’t want the community stirred up over nothing.”
“Nothing, sir? She was a girl. A human person with feelings just the same as yours or mine.”
“She was a whore.”
“Yes, sir. A living, breathing, female human whore. And she didn’t deserve to die just because of what she was doing for a living.”
“I’m not trying to argue that point with you, Deputy. I just don’t want a lot of trouble caused over this.” Parminter took in a deep breath, held it a moment, and slowly let it out. “Can I be honest with you, Deputy?”
“I kinda wish you would, Mr. Mayor.”
“Kittstown is undergoing a … what you might call a crisis right now.”
“How’s that, sir?”
