“What do we do if they come looking here?” said the older Goodman.
Longarm glanced at the man. “I was given to understand that you and your boy are pretty fair hands with a rifle. This cabin is made out of rock and we’ve got good, clear land all around us and we’ll be shooting down. I’d say the odds are all on our side. If we can’t stand off fifty men here, the five of us, something’s wrong.”
“What about ammo?”
Longarm said, “I’m going into town in the morning to get some.” He glanced over at Tom Hunter. “I’m also going to get a couple big sacks of grub that nobody can ruin.”
Tom Hunter said, “Listen, Marshal, if you’d like to take over the cooking, you’re more than welcome. I’ve lost ten pounds since I’ve been cooking for myself. I’ve never been so tired of anything in my life as I am of bacon and beans, but those are the only things I know how to cook, short of slaughtering a cow and cutting off one steak.”
Rufus Goodman said, “Marshal, how long do you think this is going to take before he breaks?”
Longarm looked at him. He said, “Son, if I knew that, I’d be damned near as smart as a twenty-year-old.”
Chapter 8
Longarm had Barrett brought out of his room the next morning about eleven o’clock. He had created a ruckus far into the previous night and then had fallen silent, only to begin again, pounding on the walls and yelling some time around daybreak. Finally, after a couple of hours, he had grown quiet again. Longarm had figured he was nearing the point of exhaustion.
He sent Tom Hunter and Robert Goodman to bring Barrett out. Longarm sat at the big dining table near the kitchen, faced in such a way that he would be the first sight that Barrett would see. He had sent Hawkins and the younger Goodman outside so Barrett would not know the strength of their numbers.
Barrett came out looking haggard and disheveled, but he was still angry. The minute he saw Longarm, he began to swell up and shout, “Damn it, you cur! What do you mean locking me in a room like that? You son of a bitch, I’ll have you killed, marshal or not.”
Longarm let him rattle on, shrieking and shouting until he finally quieted down. Then he nodded for Goodman and Hunter to bring the rancher over to the table where he had laid out a pen, a pot of ink, and a piece of paper. He said, “Set him in that chair.”
There was a heavy smell of bacon in the cabin along with the smell of flapjacks. Longarm had sent young Rufus Goodman into town early that morning to buy a supply of .44 shells and some flour and some canned goods as well as a smoked ham. He could see Barrett sniffing the air. He knew a man that was used to eating as regularly as Barrett would be dying by now.
Barrett said, “You sons of bitches plan on starving me to death? I want something to eat and I want it right now.”
Longarm said calmly, “Mr. Barrett, you can have something to eat and you can have much better treatment. All you have to do is write a letter for me.”
Barrett looked at Longarm, his lip curling. He said, “You go to hell, you son of a bitch. I ain’t writing nothing for you. What kind of a letter do you want me to write, anyway?”
Longarm said, “I want you to write a letter to Jake Myers asking him to meet you.”
Barrett furrowed his brow. He said, “Why would I want to do a damn-fool thing like that? I don’t want to see Jake Myers.”
“No, but I do.”
“Then, hell, write him yourself or go see him. I doubt you’d get out of there alive.”
Longarm smiled. “Now, you’re getting the general idea. No, I think I need you to write the letter. Now, here’s the pen. Take it up, and I’ll tell you what to write. When you’re finished, you can have something to eat.”
“You go to hell. And besides that, I need to go outside.”
“Write the letter first, Mr. Barrett.”
“I ain’t writing you no damned letter, you son of a bitch. Are you holding me hostage? Is that what this is all about? Are you planning on holding my brothers up for money? Well, I can tell you right now, they won’t pay you. They won’t pay one red cent, so you’re wasting your time. When I get out of here, I’m going to have every one of you bastards killed. That includes you, Tom Hunter, and you, too, Robert Goodman.”
Longarm sighed. He said, “All right. Take him back to his room.”
Barrett suddenly gripped the sides of the chair he was sitting in and said, “No! No! No! I want something to eat and I want some more water and I want some coffee and I want a drink and I want to go outside.”
Longarm looked at him for a long moment. “Well, maybe that last one ain’t such a bad idea. Tom, you and Mr. Goodman escort our friend outside. Keep a close eye on him, though I doubt he’ll do much running.”
Longarm sat there waiting until Archie Barrett reentered through the back door. He had shed his coat and his vest was open and he had taken off his tie and his collar.
Motioning at the writing paraphernalia, Longarm said, “You ready to oblige me now with this letter?”
Barrett looked at him cunningly. He said, “I want something to eat first. I smell bacon. I’d like some bacon and eggs.”
“After you write the letter, Mr. Barrett.”
The squat man flared up, jerking back his shoulders. He said, “You may think you’re tough, but you ain’t near as tough as I am. You son of a bitch, I’ll finish you before it’s all over with.”
Longarm nodded at Tom Hunter. “Put him back in his room and this time, don’t be so careful. You don’t need to handle him so cautiously, if you take my meaning.”
