Longarm on the Thunderbird Run

?I?m sorry if I snapped at you. It?s just that I?ve been hiking up in the damn mountains all night long, and I ex­pect I?m feeling kinda bearish now.?

Frye gave him an uncomprehending look, and Longarm realized there was no point in pursuing his frustrations with the youngster ?Look. I appreciate your offer of that break­fast. I really do. Thanks.?

?Sure thing, Marshal. I?ll have ?em sent right up. One for you an? one for the prisoner.? He turned and walked toward the business district.

At least that was one thing that had gone all right. He didn?t have to go hunt for Donald James Potter again.

Longarm felt of his chin. He needed a shave, but tired as he was after hunting through the mountains the entire night he would likely cut his own damn throat if he tried to shave before he got some rest. And it would take a little while before the breakfasts were delivered. While he was waiting he could see if there was any response yet from Billy Vail.

He walked down to the railroad depot. The platform was deserted, but some workmen from the mines were hauling crushed ore down ready for process­ing for shipment. The hoppers were full already after missing only a single day?s shipping schedule. Soon the owners and man­agers at the mines would be squawking about that.

The telegraph operator was at his desk. His work went on regardless of what the mines and the railroad might do, Longarm realized.

?Good morning,? Longarm said in as civil a greeting as he could manage.

?Nothing good about it,? the operator said. He looked like he too had had a rough night, although probably his would have been in the pursuit of pleasure instead of a sneak with a rifle.

?If you say so,? Longarm said with a grin. The tele­graph operator?s eyes were so red and puffy that the sight of the man almost made Longarm feel fresh just from the comparison. On the other hand, Longarm hadn?t had a chance to look in a mirror. Maybe he looked as bad, heaven forbid.

?Something I can do for you, Marshal??

?I wanted to see if there?s been a reply to the telegram I sent yesterday.?

?Sorry, Marshal. Not a thing for you. Just the usual stuff for the mines.?

?Okay, thanks.?

Longarm turned to leave, but the operator stopped him.

?It probably isn?t my place to be saying anything, Mar­shal, but you might wanta know. The county supervisors are getting plenty unhappy about you not letting the train run. That train is awful important to us.?

?So were those dead men and all that missing money,? Longarm said coldly.

?Like I said, it probably wasn?t my place to speak up anyhow. I just thought you should know.?

?Yeah. Thanks.?

Longarm left the telegraph office with yet another worry. If the mine-owning county supervisors decided to withdraw their declaration of emergency and their request for federal intervention in Thunderbird Canyon, what the hell would his legal position be?

He honestly was not sure if he could stay on the case after that or not. A judge who had six months to study law on a subject?any subject?and a whole damned army of lawyers telling him what he should rule about it, well, there just was never any way of telling what a ruling would come out to be. A deputy in the field didn?t have that kind of time or expert help either one. All he could do was what he thought was right. And then half the time see his judg­ment shot to pieces after the fact. It was a bitch, Longarm thought, any way you looked at it.

Still, a good meal and a few hours of rest would put a better light on things. Assuming the ambusher from the night before kept to himself for a spell, that is.

Lordy, but he didn?t think he had ever been on a case before that kept him so ass-dragging tired.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Longarm woke in midaftemoon to a rapping on his hotel room door. He didn?t mind. Hell, he was getting used to it. And at least this time he?d gotten several hours of solid sleep. Anything over fifteen minutes was beginning to seem a luxury, and there wasn?t anything wrong with him now that twenty hours or so of uninterrupted sleep couldn?t cure.

?I?m coming.? He pulled on his trousers and crossed the room barefoot?the place had not been swept since he checked in, and the floor was cold and gritty underfoot? to unlock the door.

He did not know the man in the hallway, but he was unarmed and seemed inoffensive enough. Longarm pointed the muzzle of the Colt down toward the floor and let him in.

?Sorry t? bother you, Marshal.?

?No problem.?

?I?m a loader at the Arrabie, Marshal. Morris, Jim Morris.? He stood with his hat in his hand and bobbed his head. ?Mr. Batson asked me?t? run ahead and tell you they?re comin? in now.?

?They have Markham??

?Yes, sir. That?s exactly what I?m s?posed?t? tell you, sir. Mr. Batson an? two other fellas. They?re bringin? him down now.?

?Alive??

?I wouldn?t know about that, sir, but I seen that they?re? havin? to carry him. If he ain?t dead he?s at least shot up some.?

?Thank you, Jim. Tell them I?ll meet them at the court­house.?