Longarm and the Missing Husband (5 page)

Rock Springs was raw and dusty. It was inhabited by workingmen and a few whores to service them. There were probably some fine, civilized folk who lived there, but Longarm did not happen to see any of those.

“Can we find a place where I can have a proper bath?” Beth asked.

“We'll look around,” Longarm said. “There might be such.”

They found a barbershop that advertised clean water in the baths, and Longarm overpaid for the privilege of Beth being the only patron. He stood outside the bathing room door to make sure she was not disturbed.

“Feel better?” he asked when she emerged, smelling strongly of soap and hot water.

“Much better, thank you. Now I have some shopping to do.”

“I didn't see a ladies' wear anyplace in town,” Longarm told her.

“It isn't a ladies' wear that I'm looking for,” she responded. “A general mercantile should do.”

“Well, there's several o' those to choose from.”

They went down the street until Beth found a place she approved of, then Longarm once again stood watchfully by while she made some purchases. She bought, he noticed, men's clothing in small sizes.

“Now we need a place t' stay the night,” he said when Beth had outfitted herself for riding. “Slim pickin's in that regard, but this'n over here might do.”

The place was rough but the cleanest he had seen so far. The Wickiup consisted of a large building with canvas partitions dividing the interior into rooms and narrow, canvas cots in them for beds.

“Fifty cents a night, take it or leave it,” the proprietor said, “and I ain't responsible for anything you leave in your room. Folks around here been known to steal, just so's you know.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Longarm said. “We'll take two rooms, side by side.”

“All right. You can have numbers, uh, let me see . . . six and seven. The room number is painted on the wall. You won't need a key. The wall is just canvas, after all. Pull it back and go right in.”

“Fine. Is there a good café close by?” Longarm asked.

“There's a café right next door.” The man chuckled. “Up to you to decide if it's good or not.”

They ate supper—it really was not all that bad—and returned to the rabbit warren that passed itself off as a hotel.

“I'll be right on the other side o' that drape,” Longarm reminded Beth. “If you need anything, just sing out. I sleep light.”

“I am sure I shall be all right, Marshal, but thank you.” Beth disappeared into her cubicle and Longarm got ready for bed. The bed consisted of the hard canvas cot and one rather thin blanket. But Longarm had slept in much worse conditions. At least this night he had a roof over his head.

He lay down and quickly went to sleep.

He was awakened sometime later by a screech from the adjacent cubicle.

Longarm grabbed his .45 and tumbled off the cot to the floor, banging his knee when he did so. He scrambled up and charged forward. Threw the flimsy canvas partition aside and found himself facing a swarthy man holding a knife.

The fellow was skinny and unshaven. His knife was long and slightly curved. The polished blade gleamed in the thin light coming over the partitions from a string of lanterns in the corridor beyond.

Bethlehem Bacon lay cowering on her cot, the intruder standing over her with his blade poised above her torso.

“Do it, mister, an' you die,” Longarm said, straightening to his full height and cocking the Colt in his hand.

The double-action revolver was self-cocking, but Longarm had always found that the sound of oiled metal catching the sear inside the Colt was a powerful deterrent.

“Please. I'll . . . I'll give you—” Beth began.

Longarm cut her off, saying, “You'll give this son of a bitch nothing. He'll get his ugly ass outa here or he'll die right here an' now.”

The man looked down at Beth and for a moment Longarm thought he was going to call Longarm's hand and plunge the dagger into her.

Then, slowly, not trusting Longarm to hold fire, he backed toward the front wall curtain.

“Stop,” Longarm ordered. “Beth, d'you still have your poke? Make sure nothing's been taken before I allow this fella to step away.”

She sat up and bent down to retrieve her clothes and rummage inside them. After a moment she said, “My money is gone.”

Longarm motioned with the muzzle of his .45. The thief was quick to take the hint. He reached inside his coat and produced Beth's coin purse then tossed it to her.

The man started to turn away but again Longarm said, “Stop. Beth, check t' see everything's in there.”

She squeezed the spring-loaded sides of the purse to pop it open, looked inside, and said, “It seems to be all right.”

Longarm grunted then motioned again with his .45, this time as if shooing the intruder away. The fellow was gone in an instant.

Longarm let the hammer of his Colt back down.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, I . . . thank you.” Her breathing was rapid but she said, “I'm fine.” Beth smiled. “I'm glad you were so close.”

Despite the circumstances, he could not help noticing that she was wearing only the thin nightshirt. He could see the unusually small bumps in the cloth where her nipples protruded. And he could imagine the other sweet delights hidden beneath that cloth. Bethlehem Bacon was an exceptionally pretty young woman.

Beyond mere appearance, though, there was something powerfully seductive about her, as if she secreted some odor, a natural perfume, that made a man want to possess her.

Hank Bacon was one lucky son of a bitch, Longarm thought. And one very foolish man to accept work that took him away from Beth's side.

Had she belonged to Longarm, he would have wanted to be in her bed every night. He would have wanted to fuck her every night. He wanted her now.

But she belonged to Bacon, the lucky bastard.

“I'll, uh, I'll be right here if you need me,” Longarm said, backing out of Beth's room and into his own.

It was some time before Longarm was able to sleep again. His dick kept reminding him of its presence. And of Beth's, so close on the other side of the canvas wall.

Sometime during a restless night he came bolt upright on his cot, eyes wide and mouth agape.

The dagger, he thought, remembering every detail of its appearance now.

Every man he knew carried a knife. But a pocket knife, not a curved dagger like this man had in his hand.

And that hand with the dagger in it had been poised over Beth.

The son of a bitch already had her poke. There was no further need for him to be there. By all rights he should have slunk away into the night the moment he had that coin purse in hand, yet he had not done it. He was still there, poised as if to strike, when Longarm burst in on him.

The bastard had meant to kill her.

But why? Longarm chewed on that for some time before he got back to sleep again. There seemed no good reason that he could think of unless . . . unless the man was there to kill and the coin purse was only secondary. A bonus for a killer.

Longarm regretted now that he had not shot the son of a bitch. It was with that in mind that he finally drifted into a fitful sleep.

Longarm woke up early, not fully rested but ready to face another day. He could hear Beth's slow, steady breathing from the other side of the canvas as she slept. He did not want to wake her so he dressed then sat on the edge of the cot, smoking an occasional cheroot, until he heard Beth begin to stir.

“Good mornin',” he said, keeping his voice low so he would not disturb anyone else.

“Good morning, Marshal. I'll be ready in just a minute. Can you wait for me?”

He smiled at that. Beth did not know it but he had been waiting for her for more than an hour already. “Yes, I can wait,” he said.

He heard some scuffling and a few grunts from the other side of the wall, then Beth pulled back the partition and stepped into his room. She was grinning. It took him a moment to see why.

She was wearing her dress, as expected. But beneath it she was also wearing the trousers, men's trousers, that she had purchased the day before.

“We shall have to ride astride, I am sure,” she said, smiling. “And I won't want to show my limbs. So . . .”

“Very effective,” Longarm admitted.

“Can we go to breakfast now?” she asked. “I am awfully hungry.”

“Sure. Let's go.” He picked up his carpetbag and held aside the sheet of canvas that served as a door, motioning her ahead of him.

It was already past daybreak, and they had their choice of cafés that were open for business. Beth chose one, not too crowded, and they shared a long table with several gents.

When they were done, Beth insisted on paying for both meals. “You have been paying for everything. It's about time I pull my own weight,” she said.

Longarm felt a little uncomfortable about Beth paying. He knew she had a limited amount of money and might not receive any more. Still, it was something that seemed important to her.

“Now what?” she asked as they were leaving the café.

“Now we go over to the railroad depot.”

“There isn't—”

“No, there isn't a train where we're going. I want t' leave my bag with the stationmaster. It'd be awkward to take with us.”

Half an hour later Longarm led the way to the
BARNES AND JOHNSON LIVERY, FEED AND HAY AVAILABLE
. He'd spotted the sign the day before.

The hostler gave Beth a skeptical look.

“Two saddle horses,” Longarm said. “Make sure one o' them is good an' gentle.”

“You can have your pick of what I got,” the man responded. “Ain't none of them partic'ly gentle, though.”

“Do the best you can, please. You know your animals so we'll trust your judgment,” Longarm told him.

The man eyed Beth again, standing there in her dress, and said, “Don't have no sidesaddles. I got a buggy for rent, though.”

“Saddle horses,” Longarm said. “Two of them. And a burro for a pack animal, I think.”

“Whatever you say, mister. You're the one paying the bill.”

“I like that one,” Beth said, pointing to a tall roan.

“That one has some spirit,” the hostler said.

“He's the one I want,” she insisted.

“All right, lady. It's your funeral.” He stopped speaking and began to flush red in the face. “I didn't mean . . .”

“It's all right,” she said. “But I do want that horse.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Twenty minutes later they were ready to ride out. “We'll stop at a mercantile and provision for two weeks,” Longarm said. “Then, well, then we will see what we can see up north.”

“Do you have any idea where we are going?” Beth asked the next afternoon. They had been riding steadily for the better part of two days and had not yet gotten out of the desert.

Longarm shrugged, not really in the mood for conversation.

“I didn't even know that Wyoming has deserts,” she said, ignoring or perhaps not even noticing his lack of interest in talk.

“Now you do,” Longarm said tersely. His nose was out of joint because the two of them had been thrown together night after night and Beth had gotten more and more casual about covering her body. Yet what she had was for display purposes only.

She had that magnificent ass. Cute tits. A peaches-and-cream complexion that this dry desert air was surely doing no good.

But a woman's pussy was something that could be given away as often as she liked without diminishing it or its charm.

Longarm was becoming thoroughly frustrated, to the point that he was seriously considering whacking off. Or asking Beth to do it for him.

He wondered what her reaction would be if he asked her to jack him off. One thing was for sure—he needed some relief. He simply was not built for celibacy. He didn't know how priests did it year in and year out. Young, vigorous men, too, some of them. Probably, he thought, they pulled their own pud.

But as for him? No, thank you. Definitely not his cup of tea.

“We'll stop for the night up here,” he said.

“What makes this place better than any other?” Beth asked.

“Not a damn thing,” Longarm told her, “'cept we happen t' be here an' not any other place.”

He pulled their little caravan to a halt and helped Beth down off the leggy roan, then stripped the saddles from the horses and the packs from the burro.

He poured some of their dwindling supply of water into his hat, watering first the horses and then the tough little burro.

“Leave that be,” Longarm told Beth when she reached for the water bag to put together a pot of coffee.

“What's wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing's wrong, exactly, but we're short on water. Tomorrow sometime we ought to get into the hills. Ought t' find some live water there, maybe even a well. But we can't count on that, an' we need it more for the horses than for ourselves.”

“All right, but promise me I can have a bath when we have the chance. I dream of bathing, splashing water everywhere. And drinking all I want without you glaring at me for taking too much.”

“All I said was—”

“I know perfectly good and well what you said, and you were rude. You didn't have to snap at me like that.”

“Huh,” Longarm grunted. “It worked, didn't it?”

The day before, Beth had started to drink deeply from their supply of water, too deeply in Longarm's opinion. He had simply mentioned the fact to her. Perhaps a little forcefully. He hadn't actually shouted at her, and he really did not understand why she went on so about it.

“Tomorrow,” he said.

“Lord, I do hope so. If you don't want me to make coffee, what will we drink?”

“A swallow o' water.”

“That's all? One lousy swallow?”

“That's right. Just one.” He managed a smile. “But you can eat all you want.”

“Oh, thank you ever so much.” Beth went on with her share of the camp chores, but he could tell from her stiff, jerky movements that she was thoroughly peeved.

They did not speak again for a considerable spell.