while Longarm plodded along—relatively speaking—on the chestnut.
The chestnut, meanwhile, was game and willing. It wasn’t the horse’s fault that nothing short of a runaway steam engine was apt to head that pinto. And only if the race went on until the pinto wore down.
Lordy, that horse could run.
Even so, Longarm was no quitter. And who knows? Maybe the pinto would have to stop to take a crap. Or Tall Man would decide to pause at the creek for a drink. Or … something.
Longarm yelled his throat raw trying to urge the chestnut faster, and all the while the damned pinto was pulling an ever-widening lead on him.
They ran belly-down across the lush grass bordering the creek to crash full speed into the water.
The pinto’s flying hoofs shot a curtain of water high into the air, the droplets glistening like jewels in the slanting afternoon light, and for a brief moment the angles of sun and vision lined up just right so that Longarm could see a miniature rainbow hanging over the creek behind the pinto’s sweeping tail.
Tall Man was already back onto dry ground by the time Longarm and the chestnut plunged into the water. Longarm could feel the coolness in the air where the pinto had sprayed water before him, and the splashing of his chestnut soaked him past his knees.
He kept hoping the damn pinto would take a tumble. If the horse broke a leg, Longarm thought, it might yet come to a fair contest.
Not this time. The pinto disappeared over the rise and Tall Man with it.
Damned arrogant Indian wasn’t even bothering to lean low over the pinto’s withers at this point, Longarm noticed. Tall Man was riding bolt upright, turning back every few rods to taunt Longarm with laughs and short, choppy war whoops.
Helluva way to lose a handful of good smokes, Longarm thought.
But he was smiling. He’d been had fair and square, hadn’t he? And he would happily have given Tall Man the cigars anyway.
Besides, this would give the two of them something to talk about for years to come. Not the race, dammit, but the way Tall Man got Longarm to cheat himself in the bet. Oh, that was something Tall Man would tell around the fires time and time again when the menfolk gathered to smoke and visit and swap lies late into the night. No question about it. Longarm would be the butt of many and many a Crow yarn from now on.
Longarm and his chestnut, the game and plodding little son of a bitch, scrambled over the crest of the rise and pounded down the other side.
Tall Man was still out front. Way the hell out front at this point. Shrieking and whooping and yelling for all he was worth.
Down below, maybe a hundred fifty yards distant, Longarm could see a collection of log and sod buildings, in the middle of which was planted a tall lodgepole with a U.S. flag attached to its peak.
There were some people wandering around among the buildings, most of them staring now at the sight of Tall Man and a white civilian charging straight toward them.
The people were … oh, Jesus! Longarm moaned.
The men down there were pointing. Shouting. Some scattered and ran for cover. Others dashed onto the porch of the biggest building, grabbing up some objects there and running back out into the yard to form a short line.
“No! No, goddammit!” Longarm shouted.
The men at the agency were forming into a firing line, Longarm saw. It was rifles they’d grabbed off the porch. Big old Springfields they looked like.
They must believe they were being attacked. Or that Longarm was chasing Tall Man. Or some stupid thing like …
“No, don’t.”
Tall Man looked back at Longarm’s shouting, dammit, and did not see the danger ahead.
“Stop. Tall Man, stop!”
For a moment Tall Man looked puzzled. And then he laughed again and shook his head.
Jeez, Longarm thought. Tall Man thought Longarm was trying to trick him into losing the race. The stupid fucking race.
“No!” Tall Man’s head swiveled to the front again. And he saw. He was within fifty, sixty yards of the line of men. Half a dozen muskets were bearing on him. Tall Man saw. Faltered. He yanked on the rein of the pinto and clamped his legs tight on its barrel, and the horse went into a butt-down slide in instant obedience to the command.
“Ready,” Longarm heard from ahead. “Aim.”
The pinto was sliding to a stop and Longarm’s chestnut continued its headlong plunge down the slope.
Longarm jerked his rein to send the chestnut square into the line of fire.
As the chestnut thundered up behind the pinto Longarm dimly heard the command, “Fire!”
Longarm launched himself off the chestnut, slamming into Tall Man’s back and sending them both tumbling while the air around them filled with the nasty, whip-crack sizzle of heavy musket balls slicing past.
Longarm felt a jarring, numbing impact on his right side. His vision clouded. But only for a moment. There was that moment of darkness. And then there was nothing at all.
Chapter 15
