Down below, close to the river, were the saloons, restaurants, whorehouses, stores, public buildings
everything else that was needed or that would turn a profit for someone.
Longarm did not have to fret himself with choosing a hotel. There was only one. It simplified things.
He carried his things across the muddy planks of the bridge and checked into the hotel, Jonas Russable ahead of him.
?Room seven,? the clerk said. ?Second floor rear.?
?I?ll have it to myself, I hope,? Longarm asked.
The desk clerk gave him a look that was close to being pitying. ?Glory, mister, if there ain?t anybody else already, there damn sure ain?t gonna be anybody later. Couldn?t be till tomorra?s train run.?
?I keep forgetting,? Longarm said.
Surely the camp couldn?t be that isolated.
?Nobody to share with tonight,? the clerk assured him. ?If you want a promise o? privacy tomorra night it?ll cost you extra. But I won?t charge you that till tomorra, and you don?t hafta tell me what you decide till the train?s due tomorra afternoon.?
?That sounds fair.? Longarm collected his key and paid for the room in cash. A voucher would have been more convenient, but that would have tipped the clerk and anyone the man chose to tell that there was a federal deputy in town.
When he signed the register, Longarm scanned the book for the names of other recent arrivals, even flipping it back a page. None of the names were familiar. And there were not all that many, anyway. If the White Hoods were already in place in Thunderbird Canyon, they were either one damned small gang these days or they had a local contact they could stay with.
?Looking for somebody in particular?? the clerk asked.
?No. Just a habit. You know how it is when you?re on the road. Always looking for a friendly face. That?s all.?
?Yeah, if you say so.? Longarm gathered that the hotel clerk was not much of a traveling man himself.
?Up the stairs an? to your right,? the man said.
?Thanks.?
The room was nothing much, but it was reasonably clean and the sheets were fresh. Longarm had stayed in worse.
The lock on the door was a flimsy thing that damned near could be picked with a thumbnail, and there was no bolt on the inside. Longarm put his bag and Winchester in a tall wardrobe and placed a few telltales after he closed the doors. Not that he expected trouble here, no one in town knowing who or what he was, but a little caution never hurt.
The telltales, of course, would not stop anyone from robbing him if they wanted to, but at least he would know if anybody was interested in his baggage but did not want him to find out about it.
It was late afternoon, and he debated between rest after last night?s ride and eating. Sleep won out. He could eat later when he went down to meet Russable in the bar. He kicked off his boots and stretched out on top of the bedspread.
Normal procedure called for a courtesy visit to the local sheriff or town marshal, whichever turned out to be appropriate here, but that could wait too. Right now he needed to get some of the pounding out of the back of his head and some of the grittiness out of his eyes. His ass was dragging, and that was the simple truth of it.
Chapter Ten
Feeling considerably refreshed after an hour of sleep, Longarm washed the last cobwebs out of his brain with cold water from the pitcher left in his room, and went down to the bar.
Russable was already there and several drinks ahead of him. Longarm ordered a bottle of rye whiskey and a huge steak?some of Morey Fahnwell?s beef, no doubt?and was feeling practically human by the time he had a couple drinks in him and the meal to keep them company.
The salesman leaned forward and winked when Longarm pushed his plate away. ?Now I think you should come with me, and I?ll show you some of the sights of Thunderbird Canyon,? he suggested.
?Hell, Jonas, I didn?t think this camp would have any sights worth seeing.?
?Just one. But it?s a humdinger. Matter of fact, this particular sight is the reason I always make my weekend layover here. I make the circuit every two weeks, you know, and every time I?m on the road I make it a point to stop here for the whole weekend.?
?Now what kind of sight would it be that a man?d want to see every other week??
Russable snorted. ?This little ol? mining camp, Custis, has the finest, classiest, best quality house of ill repute between Kansas City and San Francisco.?
?You sound like a man who?s tested them all to decide on that, too.?
Russable grinned at him and winked again. ?I won?t say I?ve hit them all, Custis, but I?ve done my best.?
Longarm had to force a smile in response. Two minutes earlier the salesman had been bragging about what a fine and understanding wife he had. Of course, it was Russable?s business what he wanted to do. But Longarm?s opinion was that it was not very damned respectful of his own wife for the man to tell both tales to a total stranger in practically the same breath.
?Best liquor and hottest damn tamales in the business, Custis,? Russable went on, unaware of Longarm?s shift of opinion about him. ?Mexican whores, most of them, shipped up from someplace down south. And can they wiggle? Let me tell you.? He leaned closer and poked Longarm in the ribs, which was not one of the tall deputy?s favorite gestures anyway. ?Hot as these girls are, I?d swear they must stuff chili peppers up their pussies between cus tomers.?
