Longarm wanted to tell him that he knew damn well where the slug had hit, but the thermometer kept him tongue-tied.

  “If I’d picked out a place for a body wound, I couldn’t have done better,” Franklin went on, leaning over the bed to inspect the area around the bandage. “No inflammation, that’s a good sign. Yes, you’re lucky. An inch higher, the bullet would have hit your ribs and probably been deflected down through your intestines. An inch or so lower, it’d have shattered your hip and more than likely crippled you for life. An inch to the right, and your stomach and kidney would’ve been ripped up.”

  Sure, Longarm thought. An inch to the left, and the damn slug would’ve missed me entirely.

  “So, as I said, you’re not in bad condition at all,” the doctor said, taking out the thermometer and peering at it through his gold-rimmed spectacles. “And you don’t have any fever, so I’d say you’re in excellent condition.”

  “Damned if you don’t make it sound like I got a blessing instead of a bullet hole,” Longarm told him tartly. “It ain’t the first slug that’s hit me, you know.”

  “Yes,” Franklin replied dryly. “I saw your scars when I examined you.”

  “This one sure doesn’t pleasure me much, though,” Longarm continued. “How long’s it going to keep me all tied down?”

  “Three or four weeks, and it’ll be healed completely.” Franklin raised a hand to stop the protest he saw in Longarm’s eyes. “Now just a minute. Right now you’re still sore from the shock. The impact of a rifle bullet’s greater than a blow from a sledgehammer, damned close to that of a locomotive. You can move around as soon as you stop feeling sore. That should be inside of three or four days. But don’t get into any brawls, or gallop a horse, for another week or two after that.”

  “Now that’s more like it.” Longarm smiled. The pain was still present in his side, but his mind felt easier.

  “Well.” Dr. Franklin picked up his bag. “I’ll look in on you tomorrow or the next day. If you feel any unusual pain, or if your bowels get locked, you’d better send for me. But I’d say you’ll be well a lot quicker than most men. You’re a very healthy specimen.”

  A few minutes after Dr. Franklin had left, Mordka Danilov came in. “The doctor says you are doing well,” were his first words. “He told us you must rest, though, and he made us promise to see that you do.”

  “Now, Mordka, you know I’ve got no time to rest. There’s too many things I still need to find out!”

  “They will wait.”

  “No, damn it, they won’t! What you said about that dead horse the night-riders left behind ’em—that’s started me thinking. I want to ride out to that Lazy Y ranch and see whose horse it was. Then when I find out who was forking it last night, I’ll get him off to one side and won’t let up till he tells me who-all was with him.”

  “Can you be sure that Sheriff Grover would arrest them, even if you gave him their names?” Danilov asked.

  “No. Not by any means. But if he won’t, I can take ’em in myself. I’ll admit I ain’t figured out on what grounds, but it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen the fetter of the law stretched to cover special cases.”

  “I do not believe there will be any more night-riders,” Danilov said, his voice thoughtful. “And even if there are, we of the Brethren will make plans to take care of our own fields. Our eyes were opened by what happened last night. Before, there has been only one man or two who cut our fences and let his horse trample our wheat. But last night was like the bad days in Russia, and we learned how to protect ourselves then. We can do the same now.”

  “That’s just what I don’t want you to have to do,” Longarm told him. “It ain’t the cowhands who do the fence-cutting that I want to uncover. It’s the men behind ’em.”

  “You mean Hawkins? If he had a hand in what happened last night, we do not know it.”

  “He might not have been behind it, I grant you. But being the biggest cattleman around here, he’d have to have known it was going to happen.”

  “Yes. I suppose that is true,” Mordka agreed.

  “And something else sticks in my craw. I just can’t believe it was happenstance, that night raid happening so soon after Oren Stone got here. He’s a hard, cold fish.”

  “You have talked with Stone? About the options he has on our crops?”

  “Sure. Like I told you I would. But I ain’t got good news. He says the options are legal, and he’s going to make you deliver.”

  “There is no way to stop him?”

  “None that I can see right now. Don’t give up, though. You’ve got a while before you have to worry about turning your grain over to Stone.”

  “Two months, a bit more, perhaps.”

  Longarm stared at the elder. “Two months! Don’t you know the weather turn’s going to come along before that? There ain’t a year when this part of Kansas doesn’t have snow or a hard freeze early in the winter.”

  “We know, Marshal. It does not bother us.”

  “It sure better. I don’t know about any kind of wheat that’ll dry out and get cutting-ripe if it’s frozen or snowed on.”

  “Let us see what the weather brings. As I have said, it will not bother us. You will see.”

  “If you ain’t going to worry about it, I sure won’t. I’ve got other things on my mind.”

  “Dismiss them, my friend. Apply all the power of your mind to recovering from your wound.”

  “Oh, I’ll take care of that too, Mordka. I’ll be out of your way before I wear my welcome out, I hope.”

  “You know that is not possible to do, after all that you’ve done for the Brethren. You honor my house, Marshal. Stay forever.”

  “Thanks, Mordka, but I sure hope it won’t be that long.”

  * * *

  It seemed to Longarm that it would be forever, though. As Dr. Franklin had predicted, he could stand up and hobble around painfully on weak legs after the fourth day, but only as long as he kept his back bowed. When he tried to stand erect, pain gripped his side and tried to pull him down. He walked better with a hand on someone’s arm, and usually the arm was Tatiana’s.

  During the first days, when Longarm had been confined to bed, she had stood aside, letting Marya and Mordka care for their guest, though the latter’s help had been pretty well confined to helping Longarm on and off the chamber pot, a job that wasn’t considered suitable for a woman. Before it became possible for Longarm to walk, Tatiana had been the one who had sat in the room while her parents attended to the occasional, field chores, which diminished each day as the wheat stalks stretched higher, until they reached a man’s waist, and the heads grew longer and plumper and began to turn from green to gold. Then Mordka returned to his books, and Marya to her housework, and it was Tatiana who kept a watchful eye on Longarm, helping him out of bed and into the sunshine, where he sat on a long bench in front of the house, trying to flex his sore muscles back to their usual resiliency.

  They were sitting on the bench when a surrey, drawn by a magnificent sorrel gelding, threaded its way along the narrow lane and drew up in front of the gate. A derbied man held the reins. In the center seat, a woman sat alone

  “Is this the house of Mordka Danilov?” she called.

  “Yes,” Tatiana replied. Her eyes widened as she looked at the elaborate costume the woman wore.

  In spite of the warm weather, the surrey’s occupant had on a fur hat and a neckpiece of seal, over a velvet dress of deep blue. Kid gloves that matched the dress were on her hands. Under the fur hat, golden hair glistened; it swept in a curve below the woman’s ears and was caught up in shoulder-length ringlets at the back of her neck. Her nose was thin, with a suggestion of an arch between nostrils and eyebrows; she had full lips on which Longarm recognized the added hue of lip salve, and a full jaw which swept in a line that would have been totally classic had it not been for the suggestion of a double chin that was beginning to bulge beneath it. She could have been any age from thirty to the mid-forties.

  Looking with green eyes from beneath full brows at Tatiana, she asked, “Vi panimayu Paruski?”

  “Da,” Tatiana replied.

  Whatever else was said was lost on Longarm. The two women spoke briefly in Russian, then the woman began a regal descent from the surrey while Tatiana went hurriedly into the house. By the time the new arrival was at the gate, Mordka and Marya were following Tatiana outside. Even without knowing Russian, Longarm could follow what happened then. There were greetings exchanged, and introductions that began with handshakes and bows and ended in embraces. Then the group went inside. Longarm leaned back against the house and inspected the surrey and its driver. His inspection had barely begun when the man knotted the reins around the whip socket, got out of the carriage, and walked over to the bench.

  “From the Danilov family you do not belong, yes?” he asked.

  “No. They’re just putting me up for a few days.”

  “Ah. Permit me. Is here allowed for servant to speak. I am Gregor Basilovich. I attend on Madame Ilioana Karsovana.”

  “That’s the lady who went inside?”

  “Da.” Basilovich shook his head. “A sad matter. She looks all over Amirika for the brother who for years she has not found.”

  “Is he supposed to belong to the Brethren?”

  Basilovich shrugged. “Once he vas. But to all places yet she has gone, is know him nobody.” He took two cigars from his pocket and offered one to Longarm. “Eta nilza?”

  “If you mean do I smoke, I sure do.” Longarm took the cigar and looked at it; it was long, fat, Corona-shaped, wrapped in rich, dark leaf. He bit off the end. Basilovich was ready with a match. Longarm puffed. The smoke was heavy, and sweeter than the cheroots he favored. He nodded. “A real fine stogie. Thanks, Mr. . . .”

  “Basilovich, Gregor.”

  Mordka appeared in the doorway. “Marshal Long, would you join us indoors? Perhaps you can help Madame Karsovana.”

  “Sure.” Longarm made slow business of getting up until the coachman saw his difficulty and offered a hand. “Thanks, Mr. Basilovich. I don’t generally need help, but I took a rifle slug a few days back, and I still don’t move around so good.”

  “Ah. I see. To help is my pleasure.”

  With a hand from Basilovich and another from Mordka at the top of the low step, Longarm got into the house. Chairs had been drawn into a rough circle around the table where Mordka’s books still lay open, and steaming tea had been served. Mordka led Longarm to the chair in which the newcomer sat.

  “Madame Ilioana Karsovana, permit me I introduce Marshal Long. He is a U.S. government policeman. It may be he can help your search.”

  “Marshal Long.” Madame Karsovana extended a hand, palm down. She had removed her gloves, and diamonds gleamed from rings on her two middle fingers.

  Longarm took the extended hand, and found his own grasped in soft but surprisingly strong fingers. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Karsovana. Your man outside was just telling me you’re looking for your brother, but I don’t know as I can be much help to you.”

  With a sad smile, Madame Karsovana said, “It is a difficult search, you understand, Marshal? Your country is almost as large as ours.”

  To Longarm’s astonishment, she spoke nearly perfect and almost unaccented English. He said, “It’s big, all right. But maybe if you’ve got some idea where your brother was the last time you heard from him—”

  “Ah, that’s the trouble. But do sit down, please. Mr. Danilov told me you are recovering from a wound.”

  Mordka helped Longarm to a chair. As he went to his own seat by the table, he said, “Madame is not sure whether her brother was one of the Brethren, or stayed with the main Mennonite community. But I have had to tell her that he is not among us.”

  “That’s too bad,” Longarm said. “When was the last time you heard from him, Mrs. Karsovana?”

  “This is my problem, Marshal. Since Pimenn left our own country, he has written only one letter. That was from New York, and in it he said only that he was traveling from there west, to join some group that was planning to settle on land the U.S. was offering.”

  Longarm ran a hand through his hair, and scratched the back of his neck. “West covers a lot of territory, when you’re leaving from New York. Now, Mordka’d be more likely than me to know where there’s bunches of Russian Mennonites settled.”

  “Unhappily, I do not,” Danilov said. “In Pennsylvania, yes, Ohio, Illinois, these I know. But Madame has already been to these places, she tells me.”

  “Well, if I can help, you just tell me,” Longarm offered. “But like I told you, I’d be about as lost as you are, trying to find just one man in such a big space.”

  “Yes, of course. It is kind of you to offer to help, Marshal. I may call on you, if I think of any way that you can do so.” Madame Karsovana rose, said something to Mordka in Russian.

  Out of deference to Longarm, he replied in English. “It was our pleasure, Madame. You will be going, then?”

  She shrugged. “Soon. I am very exhausted, and so are my horse and my servant. Perhaps we will stay in the town hotel for a few days before we go on.”

  There was a flurry of leave-taking in which Longarm did not participate. The Danilovs walked with Madame Karsovana to her carriage, where they stood for a few more moments, then the family came back inside.

  “Too bad Mrs. Karsovana’s had such bad luck,” Longarm remarked. “I’d like to’ve helped her, seeing she’s a friend of yours, but there wasn’t much I could’ve told her but what I did, and been honest.”

  Mordka Danilov shook his head. A grim smile, one that Longarm had never seen him wear before, was twisting his lips. He said, “Do not waste your time worrying about that one, Marshal.”

  “Why not? She seemed to be a nice enough lady.”

  “Seemed to be, yes. But I do not think she is what she pretends to be.”

  “I guess I don’t follow you,” the marshal said with a frown.

  “That is because you do not understand the Russian government, my friend.” Mordka sat down heavily. “The Tsar is a jealous man, a greedy man. To lose even one subject angers and displeases him.”

  “I don’t know much about Russia, like you said, Mordka, but it seems to me the Tsar’s got so many of ’em that a few wouldn’t be missed.”

  “So one would think, but you would be wrong. And when hundreds of us leave, as did the Mennonites and the Brethren, the ruler of all the Russias becomes very angry.” Mordka chuckled. “I will tell you the truth, we do nothing to quiet his anger. There are, you must understand, a number of secret newspapers in Russia today.”

  “Excuse me, Mordka. I guess I don’t understand. How do you keep a newspaper secret?”

  “These are printed in small basement shops, and handed from one reader to another. Many of them have letters from Russians like us, who have settled here or in other countries. These papers the gaydbeshnik, the state security officers, will seize. And when a letter from an emigrant, such as we of the Brethren, appears in one, perhaps the writer’s name is sent to the Okhrana, the secret police. That, I think, is why Madame Karsovana is here now.”

  “Wait a minute!” Longarm protested. “You mean she’s a spy?”

  “That is exactly what I mean. I suspect that both she and her coachman are of the Okhrana, and are here to make trouble for us!”

  Chapter 11

  For a moment, all Longarm could do was to stare openmouthed at his host. Finally he said, “I know you well enough by now to know you ain’t one to go off half-cocked, Mordka. I guess you’ve got good reasons for thinking what you do.”

  “Yes. Marya and I were sure the Karsovana woman is not what she claims to be the minute we heard her talk.”

  Marya Danilov spoke for the first time. “Her accent. She is not of our part of Russia, Marshal. From St. Petersburg she comes. Even before the Brethren parted from the others of our belief, there was from St. Petersburg nobody among us.”

  “Her coachman, too, is from the capital,” Mordka added. “I knew it as soon as he greeted us.” Seeing the doubt in Longarm’s face, he shook his head. “Do not question what we know, Marshal. In this country, I understand the people speak differently in different places.”

  “That’s right,” Longarm agreed.

  “In Russia, it is true as well. Believe me, this Karsovana woman, she is an imposter. She means us no good.”

  “You’ve got enough troubles as it is,” Longarm said soberly. “Between the cattle ranchers and Stone, you don’t need any more.”

  Danilov nodded. “I am thinking of that. If somehow this woman finds out what problems we have—and the agents of the Okhrana are clever, make no mistake about that—then she could join with them to—” he paused and shook his head sorrowfully— “to finish us here.”

  “I didn’t know it was all that bad,” Longarm said.

  “It is bad, Marshal. We must get a good return from our wheat this year, or we will have no money to see us through the winter and the planting of a crop next year.”

  “You know,” Longarm’s voice was thoughtful, “seems to me like you need more help than I’ve been giving you. I better get back in action right quick, get back to town, so I can start digging where I left off. This ain’t any time for me to be pampering myself.” He struggled to his feet. “Come on. Let’s get my horse saddled up. I’m going back into Junction and go to work!”

  In spite of Mordka’s objections, Longarm went to the room he’d been occupying, and started to pick up his saddle from the corner where it had been put the night of the raid. He bent down, but when he tried to lift the saddle, a pain of such intensity stabbed his side that he was unable to stand up. If Mordka had not followed him, and been standing close enough to catch him, Longarm would have fallen to the floor.