an educated guess. He squinted his eyes to picture bare feet on that hotel rug and decided, 'I might be able to guess smarter if you were to show me riding boots, instead, ma'am. I'm used to taking army showers with bare feet of all shapes and sizes. But I picture the same in boots instead of fine footwear.'
The little old lady pursed her lips and declared, 'Riding boots, with a calico print? Well, you did say you wanted to surprise her!'
Longarm chuckled at the picture and replied, 'Matter of fact, we may go riding, later. You'd best throw in a summer-weight riding habit. Split skirts, if you have 'em. I've never seen the lady ride, and some younger gals have taken to riding astride of late, out this way.'
The older woman sniffed, said she'd noticed, and Longarm wasn't sure whether she was feeling shocked or left out as she rummaged in the back some more to produce a whip-cord bolero jacket and split calf-length skirt she allowed would fit anyone who could get into that dress and duster.
Longarm bought a frilly blouse and a silly gal's hat to go with the other purchases. He figured Daisy could wear that more mannish straw hat with her riding habit. When he paid off he was glad he'd told Billy Vail about hiring Daisy for four bits and found. Dressing her up civilized had used up some pocket jingle!
As he thanked the nice old lady and stepped back outside it came to him that Daisy was waiting, in her bath or wrapped in a towel, with nothing in the way of underwear if he was any judge of a gal's hind end in raggedy jeans. But he was out to make her presentable in public, not to fill her damned hope chest, and he was fixing to catch holy hell as it was when he charged that silly summer hat to the U.S. government.
But even as he stepped down off the walk to cross the dusty sunlit street, he could picture the gallant little smile of a gal putting on a spanking new dress over bare flesh. So he muttered, 'Shit!' and spun on one heel to retrace his steps to that shop.
So the bullet aimed at him with his next step out of the shade missed the small of his back by a whisker to hum on up Central Avenue until it thunked into the rump of a tethered cow pony and caused considerable excitement out front of that one saloon.
As the rump-shot pony neighed and bucked loose up yonder, Longarm threw his package over a watering trough and followed it headfirst to land on one shoulder and roll across the plank walk behind a rain barrel as, sure enough, a second bullet thunked into said barrel and Longarm pegged a shot of his own at a haze of gunsmoke drifting up from behind the false front of a shop across the avenue.
The little old lady popped out of her doorway like she thought it was the front of a cuckoo clock, demanding to know what was going on.
Longarm yelled, 'Get back inside before you get your ass shot off!'
So she did and then a million years went by as rainwater pissed out of the barrel he lay behind to run across the planks and water the dry dust and horse turds with nothing else moving for blocks until Longarm heard a voice from behind him calling, 'I see you behind yon rain barrel, cowboy! Rise and shine with your hands polite if you don't want two rounds of number nine buck up your ass. For I am the law and I have the drop on you!'
Longarm rolled on one elbow to gaze back along the shady side of the avenue. He called out to the older jasper aiming a double-barrel Greener his way, 'I'm the law my ownself. Federal. Watch out for the false front above the stationery store catty-corner across from me. I suspect it was a Henry or Winchester that just fired my way, twice. That pony running off from the saloon behind you would have gone down if it had been hit with a buffalo round.'
The Cheyenne lawman eased along the walk toward Longarm with his Greener trained more politely, albeit no shotgun charges were about to hurt anybody sheltered behind plank siding, that far off.
But the old-timer wasn't dumb. As he joined Longarm behind that big barrel, a lesser light tagging after him asked what came next. So the Cheyenne lawman said, 'Go back. Get Pete and Simmons to go with you as you circle wide to move in behind that stationery store. Some son of a bitch just shot Jeff Wolheim's pony from yonder rooftop, and if he's still there I want him dead or alive!'
As his backup moved off, the old-timer introduced himself as a Marshal Casey. Town marshals got to do that. They both knew Longarm was the senior peace officer present when he introduced himself as a deputy marshal. He'd already told Casey he was federal.
Casey naturally wanted to know what the hell the two of them were doing behind that barrel.
Longarm told him, 'I was only passing through on my way to a trail town called Keller's Crossing. I had just sent a wire saying I suspected I was on a fool's errand. You just pointed out how easy it is to say dead or alive in the heat of the moment. But somebody seems intent on keeping me from getting any closer to his or her odd situation.'
Marshal Casey asked if they were talking about that rash of dead outlaws occasioned by tomboys packing guns and badges, by the great horned spoon.
Longarm said the attorney general and Billy Vail were sort of shocked by such unladylike behavior as well and asked what a lawman closer to the scene might have heard about it.
Casey hunkered around to brace his back against the planking with his shotgun across his knees as he replied, 'You name it. We've heard it. None of them crazy shootouts have transpired here in the territory. But the smart-money boys have passed the word it ain't too smart to go anywhere's near Keller's Crossing with a running iron in one's saddle or larceny on one's mind.'
Longarm cocked a thoughtful brow and said, 'Ain't had any reports about lost, strayed, or stolen cows. But you just now said you've been hearing all sorts of rumors. Reminds me of other trail towns I've run across. There's nothing like tales of blood and slaughter to keep the faint at heart at bay, or, contrariwise, attract trouble the way an open pot of honey attracts flies.'
Marshal Casey said, 'Most of the saddle tramps and mean drunks in these parts would seem to have been avoiding Keller's Crossing since them loco lady peace officers have taken to acting so hard-hearted.'
Longarm nodded grimly and replied, 'I just said that. A heap of naturally wild kids settled down once word got around that Dodge City was a piss-poor place to shoot out streetlamps. On the other hand, hard cases such as Clay Allison, John Wesley Hardin, and those murderous Thompson brothers might never have drifted into Dodge if it hadn't sounded so lively.'
Marshal Casey nodded thoughtfully and said, 'I follow your drift. You're saying that as word gets around about a peace officer with a serious rep and a nice ass, any hard cases riding in to test her mettle are likely to be harder than usual?'
Longarm couldn't resist answering, 'I ain't seen the ass of either J. P. Keller or Undersheriff Reynolds. Have you?'
The Cheyenne lawman grinned dirty but confessed, 'Wouldn't know either gal if I woke up in bed with 'em. But word around here is that few men would complain if they found themselves in such a surprising situation. Talk to two saddle tramps and you get three descriptions. But I've been given to understand both gals are grass widows. A gal would have to have a muley streak to carry on so mannish to begin with if you ask this child!'
Longarm hadn't. But it was a point worth considering. Divorced women were called grass widows because, single as they might be in the eyes of the law, they still had husbands above the grass instead of below it, like decent widows were supposed to.
There was nothing unlawful about a woman being a grass widow, as long as she didn't mind the gossip. They'd already told him Keller's Crossing was dominated by a few founding families, with pushy distaff members of the same taking more interest in local politics.
They both heard a hail and saw a distant hat being waved above the rim of that false front above the stationery store.
Casey said, 'That's Pete's old cavalry hat. Pete rid with the cav agin Red Cloud back in sixty-six.'
He called out that they wouldn't shoot. A bare head and some with hats peered over the top rim of that false front at them. So the two of them got up and headed across.
Casey muttered, 'I just hate it when they shoot and run like fool roaches in the lamplight.'
He called up, 'Any sign up yonder, boys?'
Longarm was as surprised when the one called Pete yelled down to them, 'Plenty. There's an old boy up here with half his face torn off. Looks as if he caught some pine siding and a key-holing bullet smack in the mouth. Not long ago, judging from all the blood still oozing out of him. But whenever or whatever happened to him, he's dead as you told us to take him, Marshal!'
CHAPTER 8
