Everyone was up a little before seven. Tom Hunter put a big pot of coffee on to brew and started some bacon frying mainly for Archie Barrett’s benefit. Then Longarm set the paper and the ink bottle and the pen out on the table again and sent the older Goodman and his son to fetch Archie Barrett.
Barrett looked worse than he had the day before, which was what Longarm had expected. His clothes were in disarray and a grubby black growth of whiskers was sprouting. He came into the room working his mouth and saying, “Water! Water! I’ve got to have some water. I’m dying of thirst.”
Longarm nodded at the paper and the pen. He said, “All you’ve got to do, Mr. Barrett, to get some water and a meal, is to pick up that pen and write what I tell you. Set him in that chair, Mr. Goodman.”
They guided Barrett into the chair and Robert Goodman held the pen out to him. He looked at it for a moment and then tentatively reached for it. He looked up at Longarm. Longarm could tell from his eyes there was still plenty of fight left in him.
“What the hell do you think I’m supposed to write?” Barrett said.
“Dip the pen in the ink and start off by saying, ‘Jake Myers.’ Just write that down, not ‘Dear Jake’ or ‘To Jake Myers.’ Just write down ‘Jake Myers’ and I’ll tell you the rest.”
Barrett stared at the paper and then stared at Longarm. He said, “I don’t know what the hell you’re trying to pull, but I ain’t going to have no part of it.” With a sudden move, he swept his hand across the table, striking the bottle of ink. It slid to the edge and would have tipped over except for the quick hands of Rufus Goodman. He caught it just off the stone floor. It would have broken for certain and that would have meant another trip to town for more ink.
Longarm shook his head. “Barrett, you ain’t making yourself very popular around here.” He glanced over at Rufus. “Son, did any of that ink spill?” he said.
“Yes, sir. There’s a pretty good splotch on the floor. I tried to catch it in time, but it was canted sideways and about half of it spilled out.”
Longarm sighed. He said, “Barrett, I’m sorry as hell that you did that. Now, take your shirt off and mop up Mr. Hunter’s floor. He don’t want folks staining it with ink. Understand me?”
Barrett glared at him. He said, “Go to hell.”
Longarm nodded at Hunter. He said, “Mr. Hunter, would you and Mr. Goodman assist Mr. Barrett in taking off his shirt and help him mop that ink up? Get him down on his hands and knees. Might be his face would be the best thing to wipe that spot instead of his shirt.”
With rough hands, they stripped the vest and then the white shirt off Archie Barrett. Then, holding him by both arms, they hustled him out of the chair and then bent him over until his face was touching the floor. Longarm’s view was blocked by the table, but he could see them making swabbing motions with Archie Barrett’s upper body. Finally, he said, “All right. That’s enough.”
They brought Archie Barrett back up and plumped him into the chair. Longarm noticed that he was hairy all over his body. He said, “Mister Barrett, now I know why you act like a gorilla. My God, I’ve never seen a man with so much hair in all my life. You need to shave your back.”
Barrett’s face was a mess. Hunter and Goodman had not been as careful as they could have been about putting Barrett’s shirt between his face and the ink. A good deal of the ink had been smeared down one side of his cheek and his forehead and into his hair. The shirt was a mess.
Barrett said sullenly, “You son of a bitch, you’ll pay for this one of these days.”
Longarm said, “No, Mr. Barrett, you’re going to pay. You are going to pay and pay and pay and then pay back what you’ve stolen from these people. Understand that?” He leaned across the table so that Barrett could get the full implication of his words. “I’m glad you brought up the word pay, because you ain’t got no idea how much you and Jake Myers owe these folks, and I’m going to see that you pay back every damned cent. Take him back to his room, boys, and this time, don’t be quite so gentle.”
As they pulled Barrett up, he said, “Wait a minute, damn it. Wait a minute.”
Longarm said, “What?”
Barrett stared at the blank sheet of paper and the pen. Then he looked up at Longarm. “What do you want me to write to Jake Myers?”
“I want you to invite him to a rendezvous with you. I want you to tell him that you want to have a meeting with him.”
“Why would I want to have a meeting with Jake Myers?”
“You want to have a meeting about me. About a deputy U.S. marshal who is stirring up trouble. You want to talk about doing something about me.”
“Why would he come?”
Longarm said, “Because he’s already worried about me, that’s why. I’ve already killed two of his men, maybe more; I don’t know. I’ve lost track.”
Barrett stared at him. His little pig eyes bored straight ahead into Longarm’s face. He said, “You think you’re pretty tough, don’t you mister?”
Longarm shook his head. He said, “No, I don’t think I’m tough. I think I’m doing my job. Now, do you want to write that letter and then get some water and some of that bacon that’s frying over there?”
The room began to fill with the mouth-watering smell of the bacon. In a little while, Longarm knew, it would smell like burned bacon if Tom Hunter was kept on as cook, but for the time being it smelled good. Longarm said, “What’s it going to be? Speak now. I ain’t got time to fool with you.”
Barrett shook loose from Goodman and Hunter. He said, “Give me the damned pen and ink.” Rufus Goodman was holding the bottle of ink and the pen. He set them in front of Archie Barrett.
Barrett picked up the pen and then dipped it into the ink. He looked up at Longarm and said, “You swear you’ll give me water and something to eat if I write this, and then you’ll turn me loose?”
Longarm said, “I’m not going to swear anything to you, Mr. Barrett. I promise you this and I’ll swear this to you, you’re going back into that room until you rot if you don’t write. That’s what I will swear to you. So, you make up your mind about it.”
Barrett’s voice took on a whine. He said, “I don’t see what you need with me after I write this letter. You ought to be willing to turn me loose. If I write it, you ought to be through with me.”
“What are you doing, Mr. Barrett? Reading my mind? You don’t know what’s in my mind. Now, you write what I tell you, and I’ll give you some water and some breakfast. That’s all I’ll promise you. It’s your choice: either write or go back in that room.”
Barrett’s face grew sullen. He glanced around at the hard-looking men standing around him. Finally, he dipped his pen again in the ink and then wrote the name Jake Myers at the top. After that, he looked up at Longarm, the pen poised in his hand. He said, “Now what?”
Longarm said, “Write what I tell you.”
Myers, I think we need to have a meeting about this here United States marshal that has come to town and is causing quite a bit of trouble. I hear he has been interfering in your business and I damned sure know he’s been interfering in mine. I’m sending this note by that leather peddler Hawkins who has been over here trying to sell me a saddle. He says he is on his way to your place. I figure we should meet this afternoon about three o’clock at the rocky hill just east of town. I figure that’s about halfway between us. I won’t be bringing any men with me.
We’ve had our differences in the past, but I figure we need to handle this one with a common interest. Once he’s dealt with, we can take up where we left off, but until that time, I’m willing to call a truce between us. If you can’t come at three o’clock, send me a note back by that saddle salesman.