Which was one irritating feature about his job. Since a federal marshal could requisition a horse or horses from any federal installation, including the cavalry, the government took the position that any horses a marshal might be forced to buy on his own were his problem. It was all well and good to say you could recquisition horses, but when you were in the middle of a place where there weren’t any government installations and you needed a horse, what in hell were you supposed to do? Billy Vail had said that that came under the heading of the fourteenth paragraph of the federal marshals’ directive, which said that a marshal should be resourceful and conserving of government property and expense. That a marshal should use his intelligence in all cases that proved to be the exception to ordinary situations, and take prudent actions to bring matters back to where they could be managed by approved and regulated methods. Longarm had wanted to know what in hell that meant. Billy Vail had said, “It means you ain’t supposed to let yourself get afoot unless you are near a government facility where you can get a remount.” Longarm had still wanted to know what you were supposed to do if you were afoot and there was no government facility available. Billy Vail had growled and said, “Then you better be a helluva horse trader or you are gonna be money out of pocket.”
It made Longarm smile to himself. He wished to hell he was back in Denver, sitting with Billy, eating a big steak and perhaps looking forward to a visit that night with that lady who ran the dress shop.
Now she was a woman he could have used to distract himself the night he was lying in the little wash. But he stopped himself. He still had too much trail left before he could let himself start thinking like that.
He was hungry that night. He calculated he’d eaten exactly two meals in the past three or four days, and neither of them had been much to get excited about. Outside, in the corral, the horses nickered occasionally. He knew they weren’t calling to other horses; probably asking where the groceries were. Longarm wondered the same thing himself. He’d made his bed in front of the fireplace, and it was still burning enough to throw rosy glows against the walls of the cabin.
Longarm had set his mind to wake up in about four or five hours. Since he knew where he was headed, he could travel in the dark. it would be a lot easier on the horses. With any luck he could reach Benson and get them some feed not too long after daylight.
Chapter 10
In the end he had to feed the coffee to the horses out of his hat. It didn’t much matter since the hat was pretty well gone anyway. But it did irritate him that he’d have to spend a few minutes and use one of his shirts to wipe the thing out after the horses got through drooling and slopping around inside the crown.
Fortunately, both horses liked the coffee. He gave them each about a quart. By the time he was ready to break trail, they both seemed to have a good deal more energy. As he was saddling up he had to smile, remembering the young deputy marshal he’d told about the coffee trick.
The young man had come back to him a few weeks later as reproachful as a Sunday School teacher. He’d told Longarm that just because he was young and inexperienced wasn’t any reason to play such a mean prank on him. Longarm had been puzzled until the young deputy had said, “Hell, Longarm, that damn horse spit and spewed coffee all over me. Like to have burned a brand-new five-dollar shirt off my back, to say nothin’ of what it done to my bare skin.”
Longarm had stared at him a long time, too dumbfounded to say a word. He could not believe that the young man had tried to give hot coffee to his horse. When he’d finally asked about it, the young deputy had said, “Why, hell, yes. That’s the way I take it. What’d you want me to do, saucer and blow it fer him?”
As Longarm finally set out, both horses were feeling lively from the cold night weather. He figured they’d have different thoughts once the sun began its work. He’d saddled the smaller horse, a black with two white stocking feet. It was not quite four o’clock when he got them headed toward the southwest, steering by different stars he knew but didn’t know the names of. The only one he could ever recall was the North Star.
By the time dawn arrived, he didn’t know how far they’d come—maybe ten miles—but the little black was surprising him by his endurance. He’d expected the horse to play out fairly quickly, but the animal moved right along. Still, to be certain and to play it safe, he switched horses about seven o’clock and rode the roan the rest of the way into Benson.
It was a slow trip. It took them six hours to make what he guessed was about twenty-five miles. Still, he arrived with both horses.
Benson was an ugly little weatherbeaten town with a population of around two thousand and five times as many saloons as churches. Half the town appeared to be Mexican, and there was only one discernible street, though there were wagon-track trails leading off in every direction. The downtown buildings were mostly frame, looking worn and colorless as a result of the sun and the sand and the wind. Longarm had been conscious that the land was descending gradually all the way from the line cabin. By the time he reached the border at Douglas, it should have dropped two or three thousand feet in elevation. It made for easier breathing by both man and beast.
He rode into the town on the main street, noting with satisfaction that they had at least two cafes. There was also a ramshackle hotel and a few boardinghouses and, he was glad to see, a livery stable. Most of the residences, either in town or on the outskirts looked to be adobe, with only the bigger ones being constructed of lumber or brick. He turned in at the livery stable and had both horses seen to. He was desperate to get himself to a cafe and get some food in his own belly, but he stayed at the stable and supervised the graining of his horses. He wanted to make sure the horses got their fill, but he didn’t want them eating too much at one time. Even though he was into Benson early enough to rest up and then push on, he saw no real reason for hurry. Shaw was where he was going if that was where he was going. Hurry now was pointless. He and the horses could both use a rest before he pushed on for the last fifty miles to Douglas. He had harbored some hope that there was a railroad line to Douglas, but that was not the case. There was an east-west track through town, but not one running north-south. A train went west to Tucson and east into New Mexico, but nothing was going where he wanted to go.
When he was satisfied his horses had been attended to, he took himself down to the nearest cafe and ordered steak and eggs. The steak was stringy and tough, and the eggs weren’t cooked the way he liked them, with the yokes liquid, but he cleaned his plate and then ordered the same thing again. While he waited, he ate a half a dozen biscuits with butter and honey and drank three cups of coffee, putting as much sugar in it as he liked.
Finally, feeling as if he had regained some lost ground, he left the cafe and went looking for the sheriff’s office. The sheriff, an older, grizzled man with a drooping mustache, stared at him in some amazement.
He said, “Marshal, do I hear you right? You are askin’ me if I seen a stranger, a white man, passin’ through who woulda been ridin’ one horse an’ leadin’ a extry? That right?”
Longarm nodded.
The sheriff leaned back in his chair. “Not more’n half a dozen. “Less he was wearin’ spangles or pink tights, I can’t he’p you a bit. And no, ‘bout the other question, I don’t know no Jack Shaw. Heered of him, but never met the sucker, I’m right glad to say.”
Longarm thanked the sheriff, and then went down and got a room at the run-down-looking hotel. He was going to have a sleep in a real bed even if it didn’t amount to much more than a nap.