Leaving the Wells Fargo men to figure out how they were going to move the stage a mile farther east, Longarm headed for the constable’s office down the street. He walked in the shadows of the overhanging wooden awnings with his new gun in his hand. The few townies he passed looked at him suspiciously, but he paid them no mind. Until he knew how much pull Boss Buckley really had up here in the hills, he was going to make sure they didn’t get the drop on him a second time.

  Constable Lovejoy must have spotted him through the window and been spooked by the sight, for he waved a white handkerchief out the door and called out, “Put that fool gun away, Longarm! It was all a mistake!”

  Longarm stopped within strategic range of a watering trough he could duck behind in two jumps and called in reply, “That’s one thing we’re agreed on, Lovejoy. Come on out and let’s talk on it.”

  “You must think I’m loco! You’re pointing a goddamned gun at me!”

  “You bring out my own gun, my badge, and the other things you stole, and I’ll put this one away. You’d best make your next move careful and slow. I’ve taken just about enough shit off you and my job gives me a certain amount of leeway about dealing with coyotes and other varmints.”

  Lovejoy stepped timidly outside, holding the white kerchief in one hand and a big paper bag in the other. Longarm saw that he’d thought to leave his gunbelt where it couldn’t get him in trouble, so he put his own gun away, but stayed near cover just the same. He was well within rifle range of the jailhouse window.

  Lovejoy crossed over to him, saying, “I got all your stuff right here, Mister Long. Like I said, I’ve seen the error of my ways.”

  Longarm took the sack from him, saying, “I know you have a telephone line to the capital. I’ll take your word for what’s in this bag, for now, but it seems a mite light. You don’t have my horse, Winchester, and saddlebags in here, I’ll bet.”

  “Listen, Longarm. I got a nice pinto stud with a new Visalia stock saddle for you. Got a spanking new Remington rifle I’d be pleased to offer, too.”

  “I don’t want your horse and gear. I want mine. What happened to them?”

  Lovejoy licked his lips and said, “Honest, I just don’t know. After you run off, I went to the livery to see if you’d left any clues in your possibles. That’s when we noticed someone had sort of, well, stole them.”

  Longarm nodded and said, “A little rat-faced tramp in a hickory shirt and gunbarrel chaps. He just chased me on my own mount, shooting at me with my own rifle. You sure run this town sloppy, old son.”

  “We heard about them smoking up the stage. Some of the boys’re out looking for the rascals right now. I can see I had you wrong, Longarm. I’ll just bet the Calico Kid’s gang has been behind this high-grading all the time.”

  He waited for Longarm to answer, got nervous waiting and tried to grin, saying, “But, hell, we’re on the same side now, right?”

  Longarm said, “Maybe. You were about to tell me who passed the word that I was to be kept away from the Lost Chinaman and such.”

  Lovejoy hesitated, then shrugged and said, “Hell, no sense in me trying to cover for folks who can’t make up their own durned minds. It was the U.S. marshal in Sacramento. The same hombre just called to say we were to leave you the hell alone!”

  Longarm nodded, but said, “I want a name to go with your tale. Was it the marshal himself or somebody farther down his totem pole?”

  Lovejoy said, “It was a deputy named Harper. Sam Harper, I think his name was. He said you had no jurisdiction the first time he called. Now he says the case is all yours and he hopes you choke on it.”

  Longarm nodded again and said, “You can start breathing again, Constable. I don’t aim to shoot you after all. Did that deputy of yours get over the little set-to we had over at the jail?”

  Lovejoy smiled shakily and wiped his heavily perspiring brow with the white handkerchief. “Old Pete? He’s all right. I got him out looking for them road agents with the others. He said he still can’t figure out how you slickered him. Pete says you and that Injun started a row and the next he remembers is me standing over him with a pail of water. How did you do it, Longarm?”

  “I’ve got magic powers. But tell me something else. When Bitter Water and I ran off, did you trail us as far as a saddleback ridge about eight or twelve miles to the southeast?”

  “You must be funning! We knew you had a gun and the Injun who knew the country with you! Do I look like the sort of fool who’d ride into a bushwhacking with night coming on?”

  Longarm was too polite to say what sort of a fool he thought Lovejoy looked like. Instead, he said, “I’ll take you up on the loan of that pinto.”

  “Sure, Longarm. Where you headed, up to the miner?”

  “Not right now. I’ve got to get my own horse and rifle back.”

  “But you said them road agents had them!”

  “They do. I think I spotted the smoke from their hideout a few nights back, too.”

  “Jesus!” Lovejoy gasped. “I’ll deputize some of the boys and we’ll ride with you!”

  But Longarm shook his head and said, “No thanks. I got enough on my plate facing the four of them. I don’t like folks behind me holding guns unless I know them real well.”

  “Aw, hell, you still don’t trust me, Longarm?”

  “Not as far as I can spit, Constable.”

  * * *

  It was almost dark in the canyon when one of the four men hunkered around the firepit looked up and said, “Listen! Did you hear that?”

  One of the other road agents poked at the fire and replied, “Hear what, Slim? You been listening for ghosts again?”

  The first man who’d spoken said, “I could swear I heard a pony nicker, just now.”

  His companion glanced over at the two tethered to a live oak and said, “Of course you did, you durned fool. The two we got left are lonesome.”

  Another owlhoot nodded morosely and observed, “Thanks to your fool idea about that stage, we’re riding double these days.”

  “Hell, how was I to know they had some sort of durned old sharpshooter aboard?” Slim protested. “I picked off that shotgun rider neat as anything, just like I said I would.”

  “Sure you did. Then some other son of a bitch blew two ponies out from under us and left us in the dust feeling foolish. Did any of you boys get a look at the jasper? We owe him, if we ever meet up again.”

  Slim said, “All I seen was some hombre in a brown suit. He was one shooting son of a bitch, whoever he was.”

  A smaller, rat-faced youth in gunbarrel chaps frowned thoughtfully and said, “The cuss who shot Calico was dressed in brown tweed. You reckon it could have been that lawman, Longarm?”

  Slim said, “Shit, they threw that one in jail for shooting old Calico. Must have been somebody else.”

  A new voice in the canyon said soberly, “You’re wrong, Slim. It was me.”

  The four owlhoots stiffened as Longarm stepped out of the underbrush, his gun in his hand and trained on them. Slim dropped a hand to the gun at his side and the .44 in the lawman’s hand spoke once. Slim went over backward, wetting his jeans as he died with a soft sigh.

  Longarm asked mildly, “Any other takers?”

  Rat Face gasped, “Please, mister! You got the drop on us!”

  Longarm said, “I know. I want the three of you on your feet and grabbing sky, but be sure you get up like the little gents your mothers always said you were. I still owe one of you to the ghosts of that stage crew, and I ain’t particular who I shoot next.”

  The trio rose from the fire slowly, their hands raised. Longarm nodded to the one in the checkered shirt and said, “You first. Bring your hands down slow and unbuckle that gunbelt.”

  The owlhoot dropped his hands to his middle. Longarm fired and the outlaw jackknifed with a scream as the bullet tore his guts apart. As he went down, Longarm fired again and blew away the side of his head. The body lay limp in a spreading pool of dusty blood as Longarm said, “Damn it, when I say slow, I mean slow.”

  One of the two survivors gasped, “Are you crazy, mister?” and made the mistake of moving a step. So Longarm put a bullet in his chest. The man’s hands flew reflexively to cover the gaping bullet hole. Blood spurted from between his fingers as his eyes rolled backward and he crumpled heavily to the dust.

  The lone survivor in the gunbarrel chaps screamed like the frightened animal he was and fell to his knees, babbling, “Please, mister! You can’t just shoot me like a dog!”

  Longarm grimaced and said, “I can do anything I want to, you sniveling little pissant! What did you think this was, a game for schoolboys? You gave up any rights you had to life when you first strapped on those guns and started scaring folks.”

  “Oh, Jesus, I don’t want to die!”

  “Not many folks do,” Longarm agreed. “Those men you shot today likely didn’t enjoy it much, either.”

  He saw the trickle running down the inside of the terrified owlhoot’s thigh and said, “Unbuckle that gunbelt or draw, you shithead!”

  The rat-faced youth fumbled hysterically with his buckle, got it open, and let the gunbelt fall from his hips as he knelt in the dust, pissing in his pants. Longarm said, “That’s better.” Now we can talk. Your continued existence depends on how well you talk. What’s your name, shithead?”

  “Carson, sir. They call me Buck.”

  “No they don’t. They call you shithead. We know you tried to rob the Wells Fargo, so let’s not waste time on that. What do you know about that ore that’s been disappearing off the narrow-gauge between here and Sacramento, shithead?”

  “Ore, mister? We heard something about some high-grading, but that wasn’t us, honest to God.”

  “How long have you boys been skulking about out here in the brush?”

  “You mean here in Calaveras County, mister? About a month. We rode up from the Santa Monica Mountains with the Calico Kid about a month ago.”

  “You get one point for something that agrees with what I knew already. I’m cheered a mite more by seeing that you’ve taken good care of my gelding over there. You keep singing the right tune and I just might take you in alive.”

  “Anything, mister! I’ll tell you anything you want to know!” Carson said with great enthusiasm.

  “All right. If you boys have been roaming around out here, looking for a chance to steal, you must know the territory pretty well after a month. I’m interested in railroad properties. You know the tracks to the low country?”

  “Sure, we’ve rode over ’em plenty of times.”

  “You ever notice a siding? Maybe a spur line running off into the trees or some old mine tunnel?”

  Carson shook his head and said, “No sir. Not that I remember, and I’m thinking hard as anything.”

  Longarm nodded and said, “Let’s try another one. You boys have likely been keeping your eyes open for strangers on the horizon line. Have you seen any others playing your same game?”

  “You mean another gang, mister? I don’t think so. We’ve spied greasers working cows a few times, and once we spotted an Injun squaw picking nuts, but she got away.”

  “Lucky for her, I reckon. But I’d say if you stumbled over Diggers you were moving pretty slick. You’d likely have noticed white riders if they were about. So the high-grading has to be an inside job. I want you to study on my next question before you lie to me, boy. I noticed you and the Calico Kid had the freedom to roam the streets of Manzanita. Can you enlighten me on how the law felt about that?”

  “Hell, mister, there ain’t no wanted posters out on us.”

  “There are now; Wells Fargo just posted them. What I’m aiming at is how the Kid happened to be on such friendly terms with Constable Lovejoy and the sheriff’s department.”

  Carson shrugged and said, “He was just scared of Calico, I reckon. He was a pretty hard case and Lovejoy has a wife and kids.”

  “What about the county sheriff?”

  “Never met up with him. Calico said not to steal nothing near the county seat.”

  Longarm thought this over. Then he nodded and said, “I can’t think of anything else you might have to say, so we’d best get on with it.”

  Then he put his revolver in its holster and said, “I figure I’ve got one bullet left. Your gun is within easy reach when you’ve a mind to go for it.”

  Carson gasped, “Oh, no, I ain’t about to try! You got to give me a break!”

  Longarm stood with his hands out to his sides as he said, “I am giving you a break. It’s against my nature even to step on a bug without giving it a chance.”

  “I can’t fight you! You said you’d carry me in alive!”

  “I said maybe. Your trial would be a needless expense to the taxpayers, since we both know you shot that old man and the hunchback.”

  “Slim shot the guard! Brown, there, killed the old man! I’ve never shot it out with nobody!”

  “It might be a good time to start trying; I ain’t got all night. I can see you’ve started to reconsider the error of your ways, and if you and I were the only folks I had to worry about, I’d be tempted to let you go, for I don’t have time to trifle in a case I ain’t assigned to. But you see, sonny, there’re other folks out there that you might run into, and I’d hate to have a six-year-old kid on my conscience when and if you start feeling tough again.”

  The owlhoot started to cry.

  Longarm said, “Come on, you’ve got at least five rounds in your gun and I cross-draw, so you have an edge on me.”

  “Oh, please, please, I’m so damn scared!”

  “It doesn’t feel so good to be on the receiving end, does it? Didn’t you think anyone was ever going to call your play when you decided to be a big bad cuss?”

  “Mister, I just want to go home to my poor old momma! I swear, if you let me live, I’ll never wear a gun again!”

  Longarm shook his head and said, “I’m counting to three, and then I’m going to draw. You do whatever you want to about it.”

  “Oh, no! You got to let me live!”

  “One!”

  “I’ll be good! I swear I’ll never do it again!”

  “Two!”

  “No, no, I don’t want it this way!”

  And then Longarm said, “Three!” and reached across his waist for the .44. The owlhoot screamed and dove for his gun as the deputy fired. The bullet hit Carson just under his nose, drilled through his skull, and blew his brains out the back of his head. His body didn’t even twitch as it went limp and keeled over on its side.

  Longarm stood silently, looking down at the four bodies as he reloaded. Then he swallowed the funny taste in his mouth and muttered, “I must have eaten something that didn’t agree with me. Likely the chili I had in Sacramento.”

  He knew he’d done the only sensible thing; it wasn’t as if they’d have treated him differently. So it surprised him a bit, as he walked over to reclaim his horse, that he suddenly gagged and had to lean against a tree trunk to throw up.

  Chapter 4

  By the time Longarm got back to Manzanita, leading the two other ponies and riding the army remount gelding he’d reclaimed, the posse looking for the road agents in other parts had ridden in too, bone-weary and out of ideas.

  Longarm told Lovejoy he’d had a shoot-out with the rascals and added that the constable was welcome to the reward if he and his boys would ride up to the canyon and pack the bodies out, so Lovejoy didn’t press him for details.

  It was getting dark by then. Lovejoy asked if Longarm had a place to stay the night in town and he answered, “Nope. It’s taken me a while, but I’m riding up to the damned mine.”

  He left them celebrating their good fortune and headed up the slope along the wagon trace that they said led to the Lost Chinaman. The mine was said to be only a couple of miles away. He’d gone maybe a quarter of the distance when he heard hoofbeats behind him, approaching fast, so he reined in just off the road and sat his mount quietly in the inky shade of a canyon oak.

  It was Sylvia Baxter and a man he didn’t know. They saw his outline at about the same time and reined in. The man called out, “Who’s there? I see you, my good fellow.”

  Longarm saw that things were getting tense and called back, “It’s all right, folks. I’m the law. ’Evening, Miss Sylvia.”

  “Is that you, Custis?” she asked, squinting into the darkness.

  “Yes, ma’am. You had me spooked, too. It was dumb of me only to hide halfway till I took your measure.”

  Sylvia laughed and said, “Ralph, dear, this is the man I was telling you about—Marshal Long.”

  Her brother sniffed and said, “I daresay,” and Longarm wondered just how much she’d told him.

  Ralph Baxter was twice as snooty as his sister, but not as pretty. He had muttonchop sideburns and a pouty mouth. He was wearing a little sissy hat and English jodhpur boots under too-tight whipcord breeches. Longarm wondered how he posted, trotting in that rented stock saddle. The only thing anyone could take seriously about the dude was the Webley revolver riding butt forward on his left hip. Longarm knew that most men who didn’t know too much about riding armed favored fancier border rigs that looked mean enough until you had to draw quickly from the saddle. He couldn’t see well enough in this light to be sure, but the black hard-rubber grips of the big pistol had a no-nonsense look to them that said Ralph had paid a good gunsmith to fit them to his palm. He wondered why a man who looked like a sissy was armed like a hired gunslick.