“Oh, I don’t know as I woulda put it exactly that way,” he said, “but, well, yes.”

  “Fair enough, Mr. Long. What is it that you need to know?”

  He explained but not in detail. He had no desire to shock the pretty widow.

  “And you want to know about Henry and Henrietta, is that it?”

  “Actually it’s their granddaughter Justine I wanna ask about. She seems to be missing, and I can’t help but wonder if the murders of her grandparents . . . her other grandfather, Moses Arthur, was also murdered recently, that was over in Cheyenne . . . I can’t help but wonder if her disappearance isn’t somehow connected with those killings. So anything you might could tell me about Justine just might be a help to me.”

  “Then I think you have come to the right place, Deputy. I know Justine fairly well. But can I ask you, do you have plans for dinner? We could talk about Justine over a roast chicken that I happen to have in the oven and really need to tend to before it dries out.”

  “That’s nice of you, ma’am, if it’d be no bother.”

  “Bother? It would be a pleasure. I so seldom have company when I dine. It will be nice to have someone to talk with over dessert.”

  Chapter 28

  “Is this the, um, dessert?” Longarm murmured.

  Lady giggled agreement that indeed it was, arching her back and guiding his head across the flat of her belly to the nest of curly blond pubic hair below.

  Longarm’s tongue probed, found the smooth, wet valley of her slit, then began to flicker back and forth across the tiny bump of her clitoris.

  Lady responded with wild gyrations of her hips, thrusting herself harder onto his lips and trying to stifle a sound that came out somewhere between a squeal and a scream.

  Longarm lifted his head out of her crotch, his mustache tickling her pussy as he did so, and laughed. “You do come mighty easy, don’t you, girl.”

  “Are you complaining, sir?”

  “I am not.”

  “Then why don’t you go back to what you were doing, because, darling man, I am just getting warmed up.”

  Longarm smiled. And did as the lady bid.

  The supper they’d shared late that afternoon had been light and not all that good. But Lady’s charms were more than enough to improve the meal, and it turned out that she was as direct as she was pretty.

  At the end of the meal, she gave him a long, calm look then casually asked, “Do you like to fuck?”

  “More than passing well,” he said as he struggled to hide his surprise.

  “So do I,” Lady told him, “but I have to be careful what my neighbors think.” She laughed. “They like to gossip almost as much as I do.”

  “There’s times,” he said, “when bein’ a stranger in town has its advantages. After all, who would I tell about things? Leastways not till I get back to Denver.”

  “My point exactly,” Lady declared. “And you are an uncommonly handsome man.”

  Longarm laughed. “Handsome? Not hardly.”

  “Virile, then? Will you grant me ‘virile’?”

  “If you think so, sure.”

  “Exciting certainly. And you say you like to fuck. Are you good at it?”

  “Lordy,” he said, “I can’t recall ever bein’ asked that before. I’m not real sure how to answer it.”

  “Well if you can’t tell me, perhaps you can show me,” Lady declared.

  Longarm chuckled. “Reckon we can talk business later.” He reached for her. Lady stood and came willingly into his arms.

  She was taller than he had realized and thin, but once she got her clothes off—which she did in very short order—she proved to be attractively slender, with firm breasts and pale nipples.

  She took him by the hand and led him to her bedroom, which was small and tidy and smelled of a delicate perfume, the same scent he discovered on her body as soon as they were horizontal.

  Longarm buried his face between her breasts and was content for a moment to simply breathe in Lady’s delicious scent. But there was more to her than that. Much, much more.

  She started to take the lead, but he took her by the arm and pulled her back, making it clear that he would be in charge.

  Lady acquiesced willingly, giving herself to him readily, her taut body practically vibrating with pent-up desire as she licked his nipples and fondled his balls before working her way down to his cock and taking it deep into her mouth.

  “I want you to come in my mouth the first time,” Lady told him. “It will take the edge off so you have more staying power after that.” She giggled. “Besides, I like it. I like the feel of it and the taste of it and just about everything there is between a man and a woman.”

  “You can take it in your mouth for a spell,” he consented, “but when I get to wanting the feel of your pussy, I’ll put it there or wherever I damn well please.”

  “Yes, sir. Whatever you say.”

  And so it had been, Lady compliant to his wishes and quick to climax, coming time and time again to the touch of his hands, his tongue, and to the pounding of his cock driving deep inside her.

  The two of them lay locked on her bed until well after dark. Finally Longarm rolled off of her and sat up on the edge of the bed while Lady found matches and lighted a bedside lamp.

  “D’you still have some o’ that good coffee?” he asked.

  “It probably tastes old by now.”

  “I don’t care. Pour me some.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Then we can talk a little about Justine Crowne.”

  “There isn’t much I can tell you about her,” Lady said. “She became involved with a gambler,” she shuddered, “a genuinely evil man. I know she was head over heels for him. She trusted me, you should understand. She came to me several times to talk about things she couldn’t take to her grandparents.”

  “I can understand that sorta thing,” Longarm said.

  “Of course. I advised her against Edgar.”

  “Who is this Edgar?”

  “Like I said, a gambler. A local man, Edgar Spurlock. Justine was crazy about him. I know for a fact that she gave her virginity to him, because we talked about that both before she did it and again afterward. I know she intended to be with him. Marriage, I mean. The son of a bitch is the kind to use a girl then dump her, although she wouldn’t believe me when I told her that. I know he was with her one afternoon. That was in a shack down close to the hog ranch where he works a card table. Then she disappeared. She simply disappeared. I never heard from her again, even though she promised faithfully that she would write to me from wherever they went. As it turned out, though, Justine left but that bastard Edgar did not. He still deals poker at a place south of town, across the line into Colorado, so our law has no say over him.”

  “But Justine told you she would be with this Spurlock?”

  Lady nodded and playfully licked Longarm’s shoulder.

  “Careful or you’ll get me started again,” Longarm warned her.

  Lady’s answer was an impish grin and another lick. “What about that coffee you wanted?”

  Longarm pushed her flat onto the bed. “The coffee can wait, woman. Now lay quiet an’ open them legs to me.”

  Which she willingly did.

  Chapter 29

  It would have been easier to take the stagecoach south, particularly so since he had gotten practically no sleep the night he spent with Lady, but he wanted the freedom of movement that a saddle horse gave him, so he kept the dun horse he’d hired in Rawlins.

  There was no need for directions to the hog ranch where Edgar Spurlock was a house dealer. Any place like that would thrive on trade passing by and so would have to be located on or very close to the public road that ran from Baggs down to Craig, Colorado, and beyond. All Longarm had to do was point the dun south and look for the surveyor’s monument that marked the dividing line between Wyoming Territory and the state of Colorado.

  He would find the slop joint not too far south of that line. Likely he would find Spurlock there. And—he hadn’t wanted to tell Lady Howard what he expected—he’d probably find Justine Crowne there as well.

  When a man like Spurlock courted an exceptionally pretty girl like Justine was said to be, there usually was more than one reason, and getting a piece of ass was normally the least of it. Turning her out as a whore was probably the rest of that equation. Longarm fully expected to find Justine turning tricks in some shack adjacent to the saloon, close to Baggs but too ashamed of her fall from decency to come home again.

  Longarm pondered his theory while the dun traveled on a slack rein.

  There was a fly in that ointment, he realized.

  If that was all there was to this, why had Moses Arthur claimed to have a problem that would involve federal laws being broken. Prostitution was against no federal law that Longarm knew of. Neither was murder.

  Of course there was no way for him to know at this late date just how much Mose Arthur knew of the law. It could well be that the old man knew his granddaughter was hooking in Colorado and so could not be reached by Wyoming law. Maybe that was why he wanted a deputy United States marshal to tackle the matter.

  Even assuming that, Longarm thought . . . so what.

  He hooked a leg over the saddle horn and let the dun continue on. Longarm pulled a cheroot from his coat—he was beginning to run low on them and needed to buy more as soon as the opportunity arose—and bit the twist off, then carefully licked the tightly rolled wrapper leaf and lighted his smoke.

  He did not know what it was, but there was something satisfying about a good cigar. Smoking one seemed to help him to think.

  A second fly appeared in his mental ointment as he pondered what little he knew about Justine Crowne and Moses Arthur. If this was only a simple matter of crossing jurisdictions—when no laws seemed to have been broken anyway—why were Arthur and the Crownes murdered? And why did someone take a shot at him up near Medicine Bow?

  What it came down to, he had to admit, was that there was a hell of a lot at play here that he did not at this point suspect.

  Whatever it was justified murder in someone’s mind. Three murders that he knew about and possibly more that he did not.

  Longarm heard the thunder of hooves and the rattle of trace chains coming up behind. He dropped his leg and found the stirrup again, then reined the dun off the road to make way for the southbound stagecoach.

  The driver waved a friendly hello as the light mud wagon clattered past with two passengers on the benches, both of them with handkerchiefs held to their noses to keep the thickly billowing dust out. Neither of the passengers waved, but Longarm could not be sure either of them saw him there beside the road.

  “I see what looks to be a creek over there, old son,” Longarm said to the horse, getting a flick of its ears in response. “Let’s go see if you’re thirsty. Then I’m gonna take me a little nap before we trot on down to that hog ranch an’ see what we can see. It might could be that I should have my wits about me when we get there.”

  Chapter 30

  Longarm had spotted the hog ranch a little past noon. It lay a hundred yards or so east of the road, tucked up against a massive rock face. A spacious corral was built on the north side of the saloon, while on the south there was a long, low line of cribs for the whores. From the road he could see two of the soiled doves sitting in the doorways of their cribs waiting for customers.

  The place seemed to be popular enough. There were half a dozen horses already standing idle in the corral. Longarm added the dun to that collection.

  A well had been drilled between the saloon and the corral. He stopped there to pump some of the cold, clean water. He drank a little first, then splashed his face and neck to rinse off some of the dust of the road. He felt refreshed after he did so.

  Longarm slicked his hair back with one hand, wiped his face with his handkerchief, and replaced his hat. He squared his shoulders and headed for the door leading into the saloon.

  The place was bigger than it had appeared from the outside. A lack of windows was made up for by the numerous lamps placed on the walls and hanging from the ceiling. But then windows to bring in daylight were not important to a business that would be conducted mostly at night.

  A long bar lay on the left or north side of the big room. Tables for drinking—or gambling—were ranked along the south wall. The middle of the place was open, an expanse of plank floor where patrons could dance. At the back there was a foot-high platform with a few chairs on it. That would be for a small band, Longarm assumed, although there were no musicians present at this early hour. Likely they would appear sometime past sundown and play as long as there were customers to keep the money flowing.

  At the moment there were two men standing at the bar and four more gathered around a card table, one of them a dude with a yellow brocade vest, string tie, and hair so loaded with oil that it gleamed in the lamplight. That one, he suspected, would be Edgar Spurlock. Longarm ignored Spurlock and approached the bar instead.

  Longarm tipped his Stetson back from his forehead and smiled. “Howdy,” he said to the man behind the bar, who was wearing an apron, a spotlessly clean apron, he noticed. “Would it be possible for a gent to get a bite to eat here?”

  The bartender came down to Longarm’s end of the bar and said, “Friend, you can get most anything a man needs. You say it’s food that you’re wanting?”

  “Food an’ prob’ly a little more. I’ve about rode far enough for one day.” He laughed. “My butt ain’t used to this abuse, an’ my legs is about to fold up underneath me if I don’t light an’ rest for a spell.”

  “We have a good kitchen out back,” the barman said. “You can get a full dinner for seventy five cents or a bowl of stew and slab of cornbread for a quarter. Either one comes with a beer included.”

  Longarm nodded. “I’ll have the stew an’ I’ll take that beer now if you don’t mind.”

  The bartender drew the beer and set it in front of Longarm, then stepped out of sight into a back room for a moment. When he returned, he said, “Your lunch will be right out. Help yourself to a seat and it will be brought to you.”

  “Thanks,” Longarm said, lifting his beak from the foamy suds on his beer. He smacked his lips and said, “This is good.” He saluted the bartender with his upraised mug, then turned and chose a table close to the card players, close enough that he could listen in on their conversation.

  The barman must have passed word that there was a fresh fish in the place, for a girl soon appeared in the doorway. She was very young, the freshness of youth buried beneath a thick layer of powder and rouge. She wore a bright yellow dress that fell only to her knees. The bodice was tight and cut low enough to show what little cleavage she had. That was not very much actually, as her tits were little more than bumps under the cloth. Her pale blond hair was pulled back in a severe bun. She had freckles, he noticed. And a bruise on the left side of her face that the makeup could not completely hide.

  The girl came swaying over to the table where Longarm sat. “Hi, honey. Do you want company?” Without waiting for an answer, she pulled a chair close beside Longarm’s and dropped onto it. “My name is Honey, honey. What’s yours?” She smiled and placed her hand on his forearm.

  “John,” Longarm said.

  “I’m happy to meet you, John. Buy me a drink? I would like that.” She squeezed his arm ever so lightly.

  “Sure,” he said. “What would you like?”

  “I’m real partial to champagne, John. Would that be all right?”

  “Sure thing, Honey.”

  The girl waved to the barman, who very quickly brought a dark green bottle of the bubbly along with a pair of glasses. The pop of the cork when he opened it suggested that it was genuine champagne.

  “Would you like another beer or will you settle for the wine?” the bartender asked.

  “I’ll stick with the beer,” Longarm said.

  Immediately after the champagne arrived so did his stew and a plate of corn dodgers and a small tub of sweet butter, carried out on a tray borne by a short, stout, swarthy woman. Mexican, Longarm thought, or Indian.

  “Are you hungry, Honey?” he asked.

  She shook her head and poured herself a foaming glass of the champagne. She quickly drained the first glass and poured another. Steeling herself with spirits, he figured. Preparing for a chore she would rather not do?

  She drank that one down too and poured a third glass.

  While Honey was busy with her fancy wine, Longarm dug into the stew. He did not know what the meat was, but the stew was good, thick with potatoes and carrots and swimming in rich gravy. The corn dodgers were excellent also, light and sweet. He slathered the butter on good and thick and thoroughly enjoyed his meal.

  The barman replaced the beer mugs, a fresh one arriving as soon as one was emptied. Probably Honey was giving the bartender signals, but Longarm did not notice how.

  The girl had worked her way through most of the bottle of champagne by the time Longarm was done eating.

  She took his arm and leaned her head against his shoulder. She smelled of lilac water and sweat. She lifted her face to him and smiled sweetly. “Would you like to go to my room, John? I can make a man very happy.”

  Her hand was on his leg, creeping ever higher toward the bulge that appeared in his britches.

  She put her hand on his cock and lightly squeezed. “Very happy,” she repeated.

  “Let’s go,” he said, pushing back from the table and rising to his feet.

  Chapter 31

  Honey’s crib was the third door from the road end of the line. The door was secured only by a small block of wood rotating on a single nail. It would keep the door from blowing open in a breeze but would not bar anyone from coming in if they really wanted to. Likely that was deliberate, Longarm thought, in case the management—whoever the hell that might be—had to come to the rescue of one of the whores.

  The crib was small, probably six feet across by eight feet deep. The entire back end was a platform the size of the double-wide mattress that lay on it. Underneath the platform was a long drawer, probably where Honey kept her clothing. The bottom third of the mattress was covered with oilcloth. That would be for the “gentlemen” who did not bother to remove their boots. The other two thirds were covered with a threadbare trade blanket. A scrawny pillow was propped against the wall at that end.