“I’ve seen it all, but I expect,” Longarm said, “that Fergus’s funeral will be a little less impressive.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Every man and woman in Reno hated Fergus MacDonald so much I’m sure that they’ll all come to see him planted.” Rouse sighed. “I’ll have to agree with Megan that killing him was a blessing for our town.”
Longarm headed briskly for the door, but when he stepped out onto the judge’s porch, the heat made his head spin a little.
“Whew!” he exhaled. “Is it ever going to cool down?”
“I sure hope so,” Rouse said, coming outside to join him. “But old Barney is going to have to plant both the judge and Fergus tomorrow or they’ll raise quite a stink.”
“I expect so,” Longarm said, squinting and heading for the livery to rent a horse.
He rode up to the Riley place less than an hour later on a sorry-looking strawberry roan horse that only cost him a dollar to rent for the remainder of the day. Dismounting, Longarm tied the pathetic, swaybacked beast to the cottonwood tree and marched up to the front door. Banging it hard, he yelled, “Hey, Bill! It’s me, Custis Long!”
Longarm heard the unmistakable cocking of a gun hammer, and he retreated off the porch shouting, “Bill, dammit, it’s Custis Long! You remember me, the federal marshal from Denver that saved your bacon about two years back.”
A moment of silence, and then the door eased open a crack and Wild Bill Riley appeared. Longarm barely recognized the old lawman. Bill was down to skin and bone. He was wearing coveralls without an undershirt, and his bare arms were wasted with hardly any muscle. Only the steadiness of his gun hand was a reminder of the man who had once been sensationalized in a dime novel as “the last of the great gun-totin’ marshals.”
He squinted, waved his six-gun around, and said, “That really you, Custis?”
Longarm relaxed. “Damn right it is! How the hell are you, Wild Bill!”
“Not so wild anymore,” Bill Riley said, a half-smile on his face. “Can barely find and hoist my dick anymore.”
Longarm chuckled. “The next thing I know, you’ll be telling me that you can’t hit the side of a barn with that old six-shooter. But I know that isn’t true.”
“I expect not,” Bill said, “‘cause I can hit what I can hear and my ears still work fine. Come on inside and get outa that damned heat.”
Longarm was only too happy to do that. He followed Bill inside the dim room, noting that the furniture was worn but comfortable.
“Custis, find yourself a chair and tell me what brings you here,” Bill ordered.
Longarm sat down, feeling a pounding in his skull due to the whiskey he’d shared with Rouse. He quickly sketched in what had happened back in Reno, and when he was finished, Bill was grinning like an old fool.
“So you killed Fergus MacDonald, huh?”
“Had no choice.”
“And then you rattled Judge Potter so bad that he had a stroke, huh?”
“Wasn’t anything I set out to do,” Longarm said defensively. “I didn’t have any way of knowing that he had a bad ticker.”
“Jeezus,” the old man chuckled. “You blow into town and are responsible for the deaths of two sonsabitches that I wanted to kill for years! How the hell do you get things done so fast?”
Longarm shook his head. “The last thing I want is trouble, but it has a way of dogging me wherever I go.”
“You draw out the worst in men,” Bill said. “I wouldn’t worry about that too much, though.”
“I don’t.” Longarm looked around the interior of the ranch house. The furniture was worn, but of good quality, and he could see a woman’s touch in the curtains and in the fact that there were pictures on the walls. “Where’s your daughter?”
“I’m just not sure. She had to dress up and go shopping with Mrs. Else Peterson, who has some horses that needed breaking. My daughter hates to wear a dress and try to look like a lady, but I sure enjoy seeing her gussied up once in a while.”
“She was in the millinery store when Fergus came gunning for me. I thought she’d probably have come back here and told you all about it.”
“Nope. Most likely, Megan’s down at Mrs. Peterson’s place, riding fancy horses for that rich old lady. Nothing that Megan would rather do than to be on horseback.”
“I see,” Longarm said, trying to hide his disappointment. “Does she generally come back to cook your meal after she finishes with the horses?”
“Nope,” Bill said, “I cook for her.” He winked. “Do you still want to stay for supper?”
“I guess so.”
“Good! I’ve got a pot of beans and soda bread I’m heating up for tonight.”
“Sounds delicious,” Longarm said, mustering up every last bit of enthusiasm.
Bill hobbled over to the couch and removed a cushion, then stuck his skinny arm down inside the overstuffed piece of furniture. When he pulled it free, he was holding a full bottle of whiskey.
“This is what sounds delicious,” Bill corrected. “And it’s what will make my beans and soda bread edible.”
Longarm really didn’t feet like he needed anything more to drink this day. In fact, he was just starting to sober up good, but it didn’t seem very neighborly to decline to drink with Old Wild Bill Riley, so he took his glass and they toasted.
“To blood and bullets,” Bill crowed.
“To blood and bullets,” Longarm repeated before touching the glass to his lips.
Two hours later, the beans and the bread were scorched and burned and Megan waltzed in the door wearing a man’s shirt and pants. She was dressed like a bronc buster with boots and spurs, and her face was covered with grit and her pretty hair was pulled back tight.
“Well, hello, darlin’!” Bill called.
Megan’s blue eyes went icy as she studied her father, then Longarm. After a moment of silence, she said, “Marshal, everyone in Reno is talking about you. Some say you caused the death of old Judge Potter, some say not. Which is it?”
“I guess I got him pretty upset and nature did the rest,” Longarm replied, trying very hard not to look pleased with himself.
“In that case, pour me a glass of whiskey and I’ll raise a toast to you for killing the two orneriest sonsabitches in town.”
Longarm grinned loosely. “Yes, ma’am!”
“Now don’t you go lookin’ at my girl thataway!” Bill said with a wink. “Or I’ll get out my whittlin’ knife and make sure you don’t ever come back here again.”
Longarm blushed, but the old man cackled and even Megan had to laugh.
“Pa! Did you burn the damned beans and bread again?”
“Afraid so.”
“Shit!” Megan stormed, marching over to the water pump by the kitchen sink and washing her hands, then her face. “I guess I’m going to have to go out in the cooler and cut us some pork off that butcher hog.”
She looked at Longarm. “That all right with you? It isn’t too green yet.”
“Sure,” he said, not sure if she was joshing him or if it was the truth and his gut would soon have to contend not only with too much whiskey but also bad pork.
“Good,” Megan said, grabbing a big butcher knife and disappearing through the door.
“Hell of a girl,” Bill said, a droopy smile on his lips. “Don’t know what I’d do without her.”
“I’ll bet.”
Less than five minutes later, Megan reappeared carrying a slab of pork, and damned if it didn’t have a greenish look to it.
“Be ready before you know it!” she called.
“Take your time,” Longarm said. “No hurry at all.”
Chapter 3
By nine o’clock that evening, Wild Bill had fallen asleep and was snoring heavily. As a result of the cooking, it was quite hot in the Riley house and Longarm, working on a full stomach and too much whiskey, knew that he had to go outdoors and get some fresh air before he also started to nod off.