The two men went outside into the night.
It was a funny thing, but the mountain air that a little while ago had seemed so clean and invigorating now felt only cold and faintly depressing to Long.
There was no sign of the chief deputy in the quiet office when Longarm and Markham got there. The drunk had managed to crawl onto the bare, wooden slats of one of the cots in his cell and was sleeping off his excesses. His nose was somewhat out of position, and the lower part of his face was a mask of dried blood from where he had hit the floor when the deputy jugged him, but he seemed relatively unharmed.
Markham took his seat behind the desk and knitted his fingers together on the front of his vest. No propping of feet for him.
He was a fine-looking figure of a man, Longarm realized. Distinguished, even dignified looking. He looked every inch a bright and capable wielder of law and authority.
?Now, sir, what is so urgent that you must take me away from my evening relaxations??
Relaxations. Was that what it was called in Idaho? Where Longarm came from there were other names for it. But no matter. Right now there were other fish to fry.
Longarm searched his coat pockets to find first his badge and then the duplicate copy of the telegram from Fort Smith, Arkansas, that had started this whole thing. He showed both to Markham.
?Ah. Oh, yes. Mmmm.? Markham examined both the badge and the telegraph form with care, then returned them to their owner. ?Now I understand.?
?Do you??
?Of course. Naturally I do, Marshal. And naturally I will be glad to cooperate with you in every way possible.?
Markham smiled, and Longarm felt relief flood through him. After meeting the sheriff?s choice for a chief deputy ?and, honestly, knowing something now about the place where the elected sheriff here chose to spend his free time ?Longarm had been getting damn well worried about the likelihood of success here against the White Hoods. Mark ham, though, seemed entirely willing to help. The first hurdle had been cleared.
?Thanks, Sheriff.? Longarm crossed his legs and pulled out a cheroot.
It wasn?t midnight yet, and the two of them had fourteen, fifteen hours to work out the details of how this one was going to go. And when they were done, by damn, the White Hoods would be broken and on their way to well- deserved prison terms.
Yes, by damn, Longarm thought, things were coming along very nicely for a change.
Chapter Fourteen
Henry removed his spectacles, took a freshly washed but unironed handkerchief from his hip pocket, and carefully cleaned and polished the lenses of the glasses. It was something to do. Something better than screaming and throwing things, which was what he truly wanted to do right now.
He turned toward the conductor, who was sipping hot coffee and thumbing through the pages of a dog-eared Police Gazette. ?Can?t you??
?Sorry, gov?nor. Not till the order comes through.? He pointed needlessly toward the signal box, which still showed the damnable red flipper for the damnable train waiting endlessly on the damnable siding. The freight? Henry had ?saved? all of an hour and three quarters by taking the westbound freight out of Cheyenne instead of waiting for the through passenger?had been sitting on the siding for five hours now, waiting for God knew what. The westbound passenger had swept by them several hours before, and still the freight sat immobile on the siding, and no amount of persuasion or threatening or cursing could convince the crew to violate their orders and get the freight moving west again.
?But??
?Sorry, gov?nor. We don?t move until we get our green signal. You know that.?
Henry chafed and champed, but he knew it would do no good whatsoever.
?That signal could be broken,? he said at one point.
?If it is,? the conductor said patiently, ?there?ll be a repair crew along by an? by.? He turned another page and leaned down to inspect more closely an advertisement that promised a cure for baldness. ?I wonder if this really works. They have testamonials. See? Surely they couldn?t lie about a thing like that. Not in print, surely. I wond??
?Can?t you send someone at least to look at the box? See if the thing is working properly? Or you could wire ahead to Rock Springs to verify the stop order. Can?t you do at least that much??
The conductor gave him a dirty look and went back to his perusal of the advertisement.
Henry turned to face the flimsy wall of the caboose, doubled up a fist, and hammered the wall hard enough to make the thin slats vibrate along the full length of the sooty crew car.
?That won?t do you any good, Marshal,? a brakeman said patiently. ?We?re stuck here until they tell us differ ent.?
The knowledge did not make Henry feel better in the slightest. Groaning aloud, he spun about and began once again to pace back and forth along the length of the narrow aisle of his damnable prison.
Chapter Fifteen
Longarm pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed at his eyes, but the relief was more imagined than real. His head was throbbing, and he felt like his skull might burst at any moment. Another drink of Markham?s horrible bourbon might help, although that too would be an illusion of comfort and not the real thing. What he really needed was twelve hours of sleep.
The ride from Snake Creek to Meade Park trying to beat the departure of the Thunderbird Run
the trip up here and a blessed few hours of sleep
