Longarm tapped him with the revolver barrel again. Once more, the sheriff winced, ducked his head, and tried to bring his hand up, and once again, Longarm slashed him on the wrist. “You are a slow learner, aren’t you?
I reckon you’re going to have to stand some pain before you get the message.”
With the barrel of his revolver prodding the sheriff in the small of his back, Longarm marched him down to the last cell on the left and had him open the door and swing it back. A thin little trickle of blood had run down the sheriff’s head and was dripping down on his collar and the back of his neck. Longarm said, “Step on in there, Sheriff.”
The man hesitated. “Now, look,” he said. “Suppose you tell me what the hell is going on here. Just who are you? And what business is it of yours about some U.S. deputy marshal? I’d like to know why you’re so all-fired interested in this.”
Longarm gave the sheriff a shove forward. He said, “That ain’t none of your business, Sheriff. You claimed you don’t know anything about any U.S. deputy marshal.”
Sheriff Nevins stopped halfway across the cell. He stood there. He said, “I don’t know anything about any U.S. deputy marshal, but you seem convinced that I do. I don’t know what business it would be of yours if I did know something. You ain’t said who you are, what your name is, or what your business is yet.”
Longarm prodded him a step further. He was facing the solid wall of the side of the cell. A cot was hung from the wall, sticking out about three feet into the little enclosure. Longarm said as he put his revolver into his holster, “Now, turn around and look at me, Sheriff.”
As the man turned, Longarm balled his left fist and drew it back. As the sheriff came face to face with him, Longarm hit him as hard as he could with his left hand, driving forward off the balls of his feet, putting the whole weight of his shoulders behind the punch. The sheriff’s head was hard, but Longarm could feel the bone bend and the man’s skin break under his knuckles. It hurt his hands. He hadn’t hit him with his right hand for fear that he might damage the hand that he used with good effect in gunplay. Longarm followed through on the punch, letting it carry him forward. The sheriff’s eyes had rolled back into his head and his mouth had snapped open. He went straight backwards, hit the wall, and then slumped down on the couch.
Longarm never paused. Very briskly, he leaned down, grabbed the sheriff by the shoulders, and then slammed him back against the wall. The sheriff’s head was lolling on his shoulders, but he was not unconscious. Deliberately, Longarm stepped back, lifted his right leg, and rammed his boot straight into the ribs on the sheriff’s left side. He felt the bone crunch. The sheriff gave a gasp and seemed to almost lift up off the bed. He grabbed his side, moaning. Blood was already trickling down from the cut on his cheekbone where Longarm’s punch had landed. Now he was gasping for air with his bruised and broken ribs.
Longarm said, “I ain’t wasting no more punches on your damned hard head, but I reckon you’re liable to not appreciate it in your ribs.” He jerked the sheriff’s hands away from his body and then began to slam him, first with a right and then a left and another right into the ribs, hard, heavy, thudding blows. The sheriff moaned, and then screamed in agony as one particular blow caught the broken ends of two ribs, driving them into flesh. He began to blubber, to sob and claw at Longarm’s arms. Longarm stepped back and caught him with a hard blow on the chin so that the sheriff’s chin snapped back against the wall.
Longarm said, “Don’t interfere with me, boy. I’m softening you up.”
The sheriff said, “For God’s sake, stop! Stop, man, stop! You’re killing me.”
Longarm stepped back and stood there, breathing hard, staring at the man. He said, “Now, is your memory getting any better or do you want those ribs beat up on some more?”
The sheriff had his head tilted back in agony. His eyes were slitted and his mouth was working. He was holding his right side. He said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What are you doing here? Are you crazy?”
Longarm said briskly, “Have it your own way.” He jerked the sheriff’s hands out of the way and again began the workmanlike business of slamming the sheriff in the ribs with hard, driving, sledgehammer blows. His big hands brought a whoosh out of the sheriff’s lungs with each pounding blow. Now the sheriff was trying to ward him off and trying to stand up. Longarm hit him in the throat with the flat of his hand and knocked him back down.
The sheriff said, “Wait! Wait! I’ll talk to you! Wait a minute!” The blow to his throat had made his voice hoarse and guttural. He said, “I’ll talk to you.”
Longarm stepped back and waited.
The sheriff said, “Water, give me some water, please. I can’t talk. You’ve done ruined my Adam’s apple.”
“There ain’t no water in here and I don’t have time to get any,” Longarm said. “Now, you tell me about Ross Henderson. He was here, wasn’t he?”
The sheriff nodded with a slight but perceptible move of his head.
Longarm said, “Well, was he here or wasn’t he? I want to hear you say it.”
The sheriff said, “Yes, he was here. He was talking to my deputy.”
“Now don’t go telling me he only talked to your deputy. You talked to him also.”
The sheriff had one hand up, massaging his throat. “Why don’t you tell me what business this is of yours and I can help you. Maybe.”
Longarm said, “You’re going to be the only one doing the telling around here. Now, you talked to him, didn’t you. Because the telegrapher came down and told you that he had sent a telegram in which Henderson warned someone about the law here and about the sheriff and the town marshal. Isn’t that true?”
The information made the sheriff glance up suspiciously. He said, “How did you know that?”
Longarm said, lying, “Because I beat it out of the telegrapher. That’s how I know and that’s how I know all about you. Now, do you want to take some more punishment or do you want to start talking straight this time?”
The sheriff seemed to collapse. He seemed to be giving up the will to struggle. Hanging his head, he said, “Yeah, that deputy marshal came in here. You could tell he didn’t know which end of the dog the tail was on. I figured out who he was. He wanted to know about the Nelsons. Well, I figured the best way for him to find out the Nelsons was for him to go meet them.”
