He looked around at Asher. He said, “You sonsofbitches gave me a headache with that shit you put in my drink. I ain’t moving until it subsides a little.”
Asher shrugged. “We’re in no hurry. Nothing much is going to happen until this afternoon.”
Longarm said, “Is that right? And what have you decided is going to happen this afternoon?”
Claude Nelson said, “Marshal, really. Cooperate a little, won’t you?
Get yourself dressed, man. You’re sitting there naked. That isn’t even decent.”
Longarm said slowly, his tongue feeling thick, “Go to hell, Claude. Why the fuck don’t you go out and grow some potatoes?”
In the end, however, his headache abated enough that he grudgingly got into his clothes, pulling on his boots. He put his hands in his pockets and discovered that they had emptied even those. He said, “On top of being no- good, low-down sonofabitches, you’re thieves on top of that.”
Asher Nelson said coldly, “No one has stolen your money, Marshal Long. You can have that and any amount you name should you successfully leave this ranch.”
Longarm swung his head around and gave the man a harsh look. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, mister?”
Asher motioned with his shotgun. “Walk ahead, please. We have great respect for you, Marshal. You will notice that none of us is going to allow you within ten feet. Another thing I might add, this shotgun is loaded with bird shot. I won’t shoot you to kill you, but I will shoot you to cripple you. If you make me, if you rush me, I’ll shoot you in the foot. It’ll stop you, but it will be very painful. Do you understand? Both of my brothers are carrying .32-caliber revolvers and they’ll shoot you in the legs. So proceed ahead and we will follow at a respectful distance. And I mean that truly, Marshal, a respectful distance. If you live up to your reputation, we can’t be too careful.”
Longarm went out of the room, down the curving stairs, and into the big room. They directed him into the dining room where they had eaten the night before, and bade him to sit down. Asher clapped his hands. In a moment, the servant, Manuel, appeared with a steaming cup of coffee and a platter of ham and eggs and biscuits.
Longarm still felt nauseous from the effect of the drug, but he was also ravenous. He took a few sips of the coffee and felt his head beginning to clear a little. But he knew it was still not time to ask the questions that were racing through his mind. He didn’t know what was going on, but at least he knew one thing for certain now. He had come to the right place.
They stayed in a triangular covering pattern around him and just as Asher had said, none of them were within less than ten feet. He couldn’t rush one without the other two having an easy shot at him. It was clear that they knew what they were doing. Who else would have thought to have informed him that he was using bird shot in the shotgun and that there would be no easy way out such as catching a load of buckshot in the belly. Of course, they didn’t know their man if they thought he had any intention of making it easy for them. He was going to make it so hard, they were going to wish they had never seen or heard of him. They weren’t merely playing with guns, they were playing with danger. Guns and danger were his business. Time would tell who would win such a game—three amateurs or one professional.
No one spoke during his meal. Finally, he pushed his plate back, satisfied, and then motioned for a refill of his coffee and called for the decanter of brandy. He poured a little in his cup, and then pulled out a cheroot and lit it. He sat, sipping at the coffee and smoking.
Behind him, Asher lounged against the side table with the shotgun in his hand. He said to the back of Longarm’s head, “Are you ready now, Marshal, to find out the details of what is to come?”
Longarm blew smoke in the direction of Claude, who was at the far end of the long table. He said, “No, Mr. Nelson. I’m not particularly anxious to hear the details about anything from you. I am, however, anxious for you to tell me what you have done to Deputy Marshal Ross Henderson.”
Frank Nelson said, “Marshal Long, as used to you are to giving orders, I fear that it is going to come as a shock to you to realize that you are in a helpless situation. You either follow some rules we are going to lay down or I fear that you’re going to regret it.”
Longarm gave him a bare glance. He said, “I don’t know what you boys are playing at, but I got a pretty good idea who is going to be doing the regretting.”
From behind Longarm, Asher Nelson said, “Let me explain about us, Marshal. The only activity that we have indulged in since we got so rich from all that gold has been big-game hunting. As I’ve told you before, we have taken every species that we could find. We have in this house a trophy room that we will show you that contains some of the trophies we’ve mounted. I must try and make you understand. When you are in the Transvaal, the roughest country God has ever made, and you are almost at the end of your rope, almost out of food, almost out of water, when your strength comes from you know not where, and then that last spade full of dirt gets turned and you’ve struck the bonanza—Marshal, after that, everything else pales by comparison. Everything else becomes a bore. The most beautiful women, the finest wine, the biggest house, everything else is simply a bore. The only thrills we could find are in the thrills of the chase of exotic game. But now we have run out.”
Longarm turned his head slowly. He said, “You aren’t thinking about man-hunting, are you?”
Asher shook his head quickly. He said, “Oh, no. We’ve already done that, Marshal. Several times, as a matter of fact. We have imported several of the most feared banditos from Mexico—even gone down into the mountains of Mexico and hunted them. They were no match. It was child’s play. It was the simplest of games to outwit them. The tiger, the lion, even the crocodile is a more difficult prey than the men we hunted. We didn’t even bother to take souvenirs from them.”
Longarm sipped at his coffee. He said sarcastically, “Hell, that’s damned big of you.”
“You think we’re joking. You think this is some kind of game.”
“I think you’re crazy, that’s what I think. I don’t know what you plan to do with me, but whatever you plan, it ain’t going to work out the way you’ve planned it.”
“Well, Marshal, you represent the ultimate trophy. You do not know the respect we hold you in. For some five years, we’ve been hearing about the famous Longarm. That he was bullet-proof, that he couldn’t be outrun, he could not be out-shot, that you could not beat him with anything. You could give him a spoon and you could take a Winchester rifle, and he would hunt you down and have you for breakfast with that spoon. That’s all we’ve heard, over and over and over.”
