I’m surprised you’ve survived this long in the desert.”
Nelson screamed at him. “Longarm, you’ll regret this. I’ll see you in a federal prison for this. You mark my words.”
“You already marked your words when you wrote that poster. You’re a dead man and you just don’t know it. Now, keep up the pace or we’ll strike up a trot.”
For the first mile, Nelson yelled and screamed and writhed and jerked at the rope that was around his neck. Sometimes he found he had to run when the horses, who were both fresh, wanted to break into a trot.
Longarm said to Ross Henderson, “Take a few dallies around your saddlehorn and pull him up closer. He’s lagging too far behind.”
Henderson looped the rope around his saddlehorn, drawing Nelson up to within two or three yards of the rear of his horse.
Longarm from time to time scouted ahead to make sure the prairie stayed empty. The men who worked on Nelson’s ranch were not gunhands, but one of them might have taken the foolish idea in his head to send for some. There were plenty enough in the neighborhood, Longarm knew, who would be glad to hire out for what would undoubtedly be a high price to save Nelson’s life.
It was a hot day, and growing hotter by the minute. By now Nelson was using all his breath for walking. His shirt was soaked through and he was panting and walking hunched over. Longarm rode along thinking of the problem of young Henderson. It was clear that he hadn’t been able to shoot when he should have, and Longarm didn’t know the circumstances, but he did know that the young man perhaps shouldn’t be a marshal. A man who couldn’t hold up his end was not only a danger to himself, he was also a danger to his colleagues. If you were with a marshal and you were in a tight place and you went back-to-back, you had to know for certain that your back was protected so long as that other marshal was there. All you needed to worry about was what was in front of you.
Henderson was a nice kid. He was big and strong and good-looking. He looked like a marshal should. But somewhere, somehow, perhaps something was missing.
Longarm also thought about the $10,000 as he traveled over the barren countryside. He had no qualms about taking the money—it had been advertised and offered and he had collected. He intended to take it. He was, however, going to make some other distributions from it. He was going to keep five and spread the other five around. To whom, he hadn’t decided yet. Certainly, he was going to give Lee Gray at least $2,000. What he was going to do with the rest was anybody’s guess. He was certain that Billy Vail would hear about it, but he didn’t think Billy Vail would have much to say about it because Longarm knew Billy would have done the same under the circumstances.
His thoughts were interrupted by Nelson’s cries and pleas for water. He looked back. He could see that Ross Henderson was marching his horse steadfastly ahead and that Asher Nelson was desperately trying to catch up with the canteen that hung from the saddle on which Henderson was riding.
Nelson said, “Water! Deputy Henderson, water! For God’s sake, give me some water, please!”
Longarm slowed his horse to watch and see what Henderson would do. They had come about four or five miles, and he was somewhat amazed that Asher Nelson had come that far without begging for water or food or whiskey or something. All around was the brown and gray of the scrubby desert. Overhead was the bright blinding sun. It was a hostile country, not fit for a human being. Longarm watched as he saw Ross Henderson go through a debate with himself and then slow his horse. Longarm was some ten yards ahead. He stopped his own horse to watch. Asher Nelson came staggering up the line, pulling himself hand-over-hand along the rope, reaching desperately for the canteen. He got both hands on it, pulled the cork, and then tilted it up to his mouth, sucking at it greedily. It was Longarm who saw his left hand start to steal away from the canteen and toward the revolver on Ross Henderson’s right side.
Longarm yelled out, “Ross! Look out!”
In that instant, Ross Henderson saw the danger, and in less than an instant he clapped the spurs to his mount, who had been chomping to run all day. The horse bolted and the slack in the rope fed out like a lightning bolt, and the noose hit the underside of Asher Nelson’s jaw. Longarm could hear his neck break from as far away as he was. It took Ross Henderson some thirty or forty yards to get his horse pulled up. By then, Asher Nelson was just lying face down in the furrow his face and belly and knees had made in the scruffy ground. He was not moving. Longarm rode toward the two of them. He looked at the young deputy, who was shaking, his face white. Longarm stopped his horse, got down, walked over to the body, and took the noose off. With his boot heel, he turned Asher Nelson over and studied him. His jaw had been broken, as well as his neck, when the power of the big horse and the strength of the rope had overpowered the muscles and bone of his neck.
Longarm walked slowly toward where Henderson sat his horse. He was coiling the lariat rope as he went. He handed it up to Henderson. The young man stared down at him.
Henderson said, “Marshal Long, I didn’t have no idea. I didn’t.”
Longarm said calmly, “You did real good, son. You did what a lawman was supposed to have done. He went for your pistol and you stopped him. What you did was lawful. Now, coil your rope up. We’ll be able to make better time without the load.”
Henderson looked around in confusion. “Aren’t we going to take him with us?”
Longarm was mounting his horse. “I don’t know about you, but I ain’t riding double with him.”
“Then shouldn’t we bury him?”
Longarm swung his horse north. “What for? The buzzards will finish him off soon enough. Besides, he ain’t no friend of mine. Is he yours?”
For the first time, emotion came into the face of Ross Henderson. “Friend? I hate him. I hate his guts. I’d like to get off this horse and stomp him to death, if he wasn’t already dead.”
Longarm got out a cheroot and lit it. He said, “Well, son, you’ve put that off a little too long. Let’s get kicking and get into Santa Rosa and have a cold beer, a hot supper, and maybe a lukewarm whore.”
It was the next day about mid-morning. Lee Gray had already taken $3,000 from Longarm and left for Tucumcari. Now, Longarm sat with Ross Henderson in a little saloon next to White’s Hotel. Longarm didn’t think it was fitting to have their talk in the hotel the Nelson brothers had owned. What was to become of them and their property was of no concern to him. They had advertised for trouble and they had gotten it. But there had been another tragedy as far as he was concerned.
