Longarm and the Missing Husband (6 page)

“Why are you putting the fire out?” Beth complained. “It helps at least a little to keep the cold away. Besides, I like it.”

“We're done cooking,” he said. “Don't need a fire now. An' in flat country like this, a fire can be seen for miles around. If anybody's looking for us, this fire would tell 'em right where we are.”

“Why should anyone be looking for us?” Beth asked.

“Damn if I'd know, lady, but why would that fella try to kill you back in Rock Springs?”

“Will you quit thinking such a thing? He was just a robber. You stopped him. That is all there was to that.” Beth took the pins out of her hair and shook her head, sending a cascade of curls down to her shoulders.

When she reached up to remove the pins, the cloth of her bodice was pulled tight over her tits. Longarm responded with yet another hard-on. Beth either did not see or pretended not to.

Despite the rough conditions of the trail camp, she stubbornly changed into her nightshirt in the evening, shedding the dress and the rough trousers she wore underneath.

Longarm thought she looked ridiculous when she was riding. Her legs looked normal enough, but she had her dress bunched up at her waist so she could straddle the horse.

Come evening, though, she first got out of the trousers, then when she prepared to bed down, she went through the peekaboo routine with the nightshirt and pulling her undergarments out from beneath it. Out away from town, with so little water for two humans and three animals, she could not wash out her unmentionables, but that did not stop her from taking them off at night.

And this evening she was more peek than boo, he thought. Or possibly it was only his imagination as he watched her disrobe and crawl into her bedroll.

Whatever she showed or did not show, he was plain damned horny and wanting some relief from that state of being.

He thought about saying something to her about that. Hell, she was married. She should understand how men are.

But he was interrupted by the bullet.

He heard the whip-crack of it passing by and the thump as it hit the ground somewhere off to his right, so the shooter was to Longarm's left.

“What was . . .”

Beth started to rise. Longarm threw himself on top of her and rolled over then over again, taking her with him, hopefully spoiling the aim of the rifleman somewhere out there in the darkness.

Longarm palmed his .45 and wished to hell he had brought a rifle, too. But wishes are not fishes and cannot be eaten. They just do not fit into a frying pan.

He lay flat on the ground and peered off in the direction the bullet must have come from.

After a minute or so he was rewarded with the sight of a muzzle flash and another bullet sizzled through the camp, this time striking in the fire and sending a spray of bright sparks high into the air.

Likely the fire had been the shooter's target, Longarm thought. The bastard was telling them he knew right where they were and was able to reach them.

With that in mind, Longarm grabbed Bethlehem by the wrist and hauled her well away from the fire, out of the circle of light given off by the dying flames.

She did not protest, he noticed.

Did not protest either when he held her down, his body covering her small, warm, very shapely form.

They were being shot at. It did not matter. His hard-on was back, ragingly back. And this time Beth surely had to feel it. After all, his dick was poking her in the belly as he tried to protect her.

It was true enough that he was horny as a billy goat and thoroughly enjoyed feeling her body pressed against his. But he really was trying to protect the woman.

“All right,” he said after a few minutes. “The fire's just about gone an' there ain't no light to speak of. I want you t' crawl over by the saddles an' lay down beside them. Mayhap they'll give you some protection if the son of a bitch shoots again.”

“Do you think he will?” Beth's voice broke. It was obvious that she was frightened. Entirely justified, Longarm thought. Hell, he was frightened when there was somebody, he had no idea who, out there in the dark shooting at them.

“We'll wait an' find out direc'ly,” he said.

They lay flat on the ground for another five minutes or so, then Longarm said, “I'm gonna leave you here while I make a scout around an' see if I can find him.”

“I'm scared,” Beth whispered.

“Good. You should be,” he told her. “Be a damn fool not to. Now stay low. I won't be gone long.”

With that, Longarm rose to a crouch and slid away into the darkness, moving as silently as he could.

He knew where the rifleman had been. The muzzle flash told him that much. The point was, he knew where the man
had been
, not where he
was
. There could be a big difference. And big differences can be a problem. A fatal problem if a man is not careful.

Longarm was careful.

He took his time, moving in the general direction but not directly to the place where he'd seen the muzzle flashes.

He did not know how good this shooter was at the business of ambush and stalking, but if the man was good, he would expect Longarm to come after him and would be prepared for his position to have been seen. He would be prepared for Longarm to come for him at that place.

Consequently, if he was good, he would no longer be at that spot but would be lying nearby, ready to shoot anyone who tried to sneak up on him at the place where he'd shot from.

Longarm's task was to get out there close to where the son of a bitch must be and be even quieter than the shooter. Hunting of that sort, whether for man or game, was a matter of hearing, not seeing. It was a slow process, exhausting, nerve-wracking, requiring a maddening degree of concentration.

It took Longarm the better part of forty-five minutes to cover the seventy or eighty yards out to the spot where the shooter had been. By then he was fairly certain that the man had fired his shots and left.

Longarm found a spent .45-60 cartridge casing and a pile of horse shit. Neither gave him a clue as to who the shooter was or why he was shooting.

There had to be a reason. Neither Longarm nor Beth Bacon knew what that reason was. Or at least Beth proclaimed not to know. Longarm believed her.

He wished the woman was lying to him about that because then there would be some hope that he could get the information from her.

He slept badly that night. Likely Beth did not sleep at all. In the morning he was wary when he went to collect their animals but all three were safely where they should be.

Longarm saddled the horses and loaded their gear onto the burro.

“If I remember correctly,” he told Beth, “we'll spend one more night on the ground then tomorrow we should cross the stage road. Might be we can reach a relay station there.”

“Will they have water there?” she asked, returning the pins to her hair. And once again pressing the cloth of her dress tight over her tits.

Longarm nodded. “Should have.”

“Enough that I can bathe?”

“That you'll have t' ask the stationmaster. It'll be up to him.”

They did not speak again the rest of the morning.

Late in the morning they reached a line of low, scrub-covered hills.

“Should be another ten, twelve miles to the stage road,” Longarm said through lips that were beginning to crack in the dry air.

“And then?”

He only shrugged.

Beth, riding behind him, bumped her roan closer to his animal and said, “I need to stop. I'm becoming chafed.”

“Did you say chaste?”

“You know perfectly well what I said. And where I meant it.”

He grunted but did concede. “When we find a good spot.”

“Well, you can do as you like, but I intend to stop right here. I need to get off this cursed saddle and walk around for a minute or two.”

Beth's saddle rash could well have saved their lives.

From the top of a hill ahead of them a puff of white smoke blossomed and moments later a bullet sizzled past. It struck well behind and whined off into the distance.

Longarm piled off his saddle and grabbed Bethlehem around the waist, dragging her down to the ground and lying on top of her. Again. With his .45 pointed quite uselessly in the direction the shot had come from. The range was fine for a rifle, impossibly long for a handgun.

Undeterred, Longarm cocked the Colt, took careful aim, and dusted the top of the hill where he had seen the gun smoke. If he could not hit the son of a bitch, at least he might remind him that he would not go down without a fight. He did still have a stinger.

The rifleman fired again from a different hill. And a third time from the first spot again.

He seemed a remarkably poor shot, Longarm thought. Then he looked behind and saw that the burro was down on its knees. Each of the saddle horses followed within a few minutes.

“Son of a
bitch
!” Longarm shouted.

“What . . . Marshal, what is happening?” Beth asked, her voice shaky with fear.

“We're afoot, that's what's happening,” Longarm told her. “Bastard has us afoot so's he can get at us anytime he likes. An' down here away from the road, our bodies aren't likely t' be found for years. If ever.”

“He's going to kill us?”

“Looks like he's gonna try,” Longarm said.

“But why? What have we done that would make someone want to kill us?”

“Little lady, I wish t' hell I could answer that question. Only thing I can think of is that it must have somethin' t' do with your husband disappearing like he done. But exactly what that'd be, I just don't know.”

“I'm frightened, Marshal,” she said, beginning to cry a little.

“I don't blame you.” Longarm stood but no one shot at him.

“What are we going to do now?” Beth asked.

Longarm looked at her and managed a grin. “Walk,” he said. “Now we walk.”

“What are you doing now? I thought you said we were going to walk.”

“We are,” Longarm told her, “but first we sit down an' eat. We won't be able t' carry so much while we're afoot, so we eat an' drink what we can from what's here. Then we load up with what we can carry an' try an' figure out how t' keep that son of a bitch out there from shooting us down like he done the horses.”

Beth shot an apprehensive look toward the north where the rifle shots came from. “Is he still out there?”

Longarm nodded. “Bound t' be. But he's playing with us. Wants to stretch it out, I dunno why. Prob'ly just for fun. Bastard is havin' fun with this.” He gave her a grim smile. “Up to us t' make sure he don't have any more of that kind o' fun. Now set down an' have something to eat. There's no way to have a fire without tipping that assassin to where we are an' what we're doing. Best we eat cold. I'll open some o' these cans. We won't be carrying any o' them with us anyhow. Too heavy. So enjoy some beans an' peaches now. We'll carry just water and some jerky. Anything else stays here.”

Longarm used his pocket knife to open several cans and handed them to Beth along with a spoon. He ate quickly, watchful of the hills in front of them, then opened a box of .45 cartridges and filled his pockets.

Beth watched him, her eyes wide. “Will we . . .” She stopped what she was asking and shuddered, leaving the question hanging.

Longarm picked up their half-f water bag and again smiled. “Plenty enough for the two o' us now that we don't have t' share with livestock,” he said.

He lengthened the strap that held the water bag and draped it over his shoulder. “Time we move along now.”

“But how will we get away from him?” Beth asked.

“He'll be expecting us t' keep going the same straight line we been traveling. What we gotta hope is that he's not watching us every minute. We got to hope he's doing something else now. Having something t' eat, tending to his horse, some damn thing—it don't matter what. Point is, we got t' hope he won't see that we aren't where he expects us t' be.”

“And where will we be?” Beth asked.

“Yonder,” Longarm said, pointing with his chin toward the east. “We'll take a roundabout route t' get north to that relay station. It'll take a lot longer an' mean some serious walking, but at least it gives us a chance.”

He said nothing to Beth, but at the crest of a low hill to their north he thought he could see the outline of a man's hat.

The son of a bitch was indeed watching them. Longarm's detour was not fooling him. Now the question was how long the assassin intended to toy with them.

“We got t' find out where the son of a bitch is,” Longarm said, “so we got t' take a chance, got to trust that he wants t' keep on playing with us just a little bit longer.”

“What are you trying to tell me?” Beth asked.

Longarm took a deep breath, then said, “We're gonna show ourselves to him walking north to those hills. We're gonna hope that he takes another shot or two. If he does, the smoke from his rifle will give him away.” Longarm smiled. “I hope.”

“And what happens if he decides he has played enough and wants to really shoot us?” she asked.

“Then all our troubles are over. The hard way,” Longarm said.

Beth gave him a stricken look but said nothing for several long moments. Then she nodded, grimacing, and declared, “If I am going to die, Marshal, I am not going to do it dressed like some ragamuffin cowboy.”

She hiked her dress up and unbuttoned the trousers she had been wearing while on horseback. She turned away from Longarm and slid out of the offending garment.

Longarm was treated to a look at her drawers, but nothing more. That was enough. The woman had a genuinely lovely ass.

“There,” she said, smoothing her dress. “I feel better now. At least I can die looking like a lady.”

“The idea here,” Longarm said, “is for us t' keep on living.”

“All right. Now what?” Beth asked.

“Now we walk. First off, pointing the same way we been going. We'll let him see where he thinks we're goin'. For our part, we want t' see where he is so's we can slip away from him.” Longarm gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Are you ready?”

Beth nodded, her expression grimly determined. “I am ready, Marshal.”

“Then, ma'am, let's us go for a walk.”