“He’s breathing.” The words came from far away. Longarm wasn’t really paying very much attention. It was just fine being where he was right now and doing what he was doing. Whatever that was. It was comfortable enough anyway. He felt like he was stretched out in a tub, or maybe it was a pool of lukewarm water, and that he was floating there. It was almost like floating on air except, of course, that was not possible, so he had to assume he was floating in water and just couldn’t feel it because it was body-warm.
“I thought he was dead for sure.”
“Just knocked out, I think.”
“Anything broken?”
“Don’t know.” Longarm felt hands probing his ribs and chest and down around his back. One of the touching hands found a sore spot, and Longarm winced.
“He’s coming around.”
“I sure did think he was dead.”
“Not yet.” The hands poked and prodded and moved around on his torso. “If there’s anything broken I can’t find it this easily. We’ll know for sure when he wakes up.”
“What if he doesn’t wake up?”
“Then he’ll be dead, dammit, and we’ll know something busted.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
Longarm’s eyelids fluttered, and after another few moments opened.
He did not want to wake up. Not really. It had been nice and comfortable where he was before. Waking up hurt like hell.
“Colonel,” he said, nodding.
Wingate was kneeling close by, a worried look pinching his mouth into a knot and putting deep furrows in his forehead.
Cloud Talker was standing several paces behind the infantry officer. There were some armed Piegan close around Cloud Talker, each of them carrying an ancient Springfield rifle with the post-war conversion to turn what originally was a muzzle-loading musket into an almost-as-useless .50-70-caliber breechloader.
There were also several white civilians Longarm had never seen before. Two of these were bent over Longarm and seemed to have been the ones conducting the examination.
Longarm’s mouth was dry and he wanted a smoke. And a drink. And … A cold shiver ran up his spine as he remembered what had happened.
“Tall Man,” he said. “Where’s Tall Man.”
“I am here.” Tall Man had been standing near Longarm’s head, out of his line of sight. Now the Crow came around beside Longarm’s waist. “You saved my life, my brother.”
“Question is,” Longarm said, “was it worth it. I’d’ve won our bet sure if I’d let these fellas shoot you outa the saddle.”
Tall Man grinned. “You are not injured. I am sure of that now.”
“Maybe. Might be I’ll need some more o’ Yellow Flowers’ cooking to get me feelin’ better.”
“Then you shall have it,” Tall Man promised.
“Cloud Talker,” Longarm asked, “why’d your warriors try an’ kill me just now?”
Cloud Talker scowled. “They try to shoot Tall Man. Not you, Long Arm.”
“All right, dammit, why’d they go an’ try to shoot Tall Man then?”
“These are agency police, Long Arm. Always try to stop trouble. They see Tall Man coming. Hear his war cries. See you chase him behind.” Cloud Talker shrugged. “They grab their guns and try to help.”
“Big help,” Longarm groaned.
Cloud Talker’s gaze shifted from Longarm to Tall Man. “If you do not spoil the shooting, no more trouble, eh?” Without another word he spun on his heels and stalked off, the squad of tribal police trailing in his wake.
“Nice fellas,” Longarm muttered, then held a hand up so Tall Man could grab hold and help pull him to his feet.
Longarm looked at the white men who had been trying, however ineffectively, to doctor him. “My name’s Long.” He smiled. “I always try an’ make an impressive entrance when I’m gonna meet somebody new.”
A short, balding, friendly-looking fellow wearing a suit and clerical collar, a little detail Longarm hadn’t noticed before, laughed in response. “In that case, sir, you most certainly accomplished your purpose. Allow me to introduce myself. I am the Reverend Ames MacNall. And you, of course, would be the legendary deputy marshal known as the Long Arm of the law.”
“Just Longarm will do, Reverend.”
“Just Ames will do, Longarm.”
“Fair enough, sir.” Longarm offered his hand, and the ruddy little preacher, who also happened to be the resident agent in charge of the Upper Belle Fourche Intertribal Agency, took and shook it.
MacNall introduced the other men still present. They were Charles Prandel, who was MacNall’s assistant, Booth Watkins, agency procurement officer, and Cale Rogers, a teamster not attached to the agency.
“Are you all right now, Longarm?” MacNall inquired.
