Oakley looked over at Longarm and said, as casual as anything, “You gonna let this young hotheaded fool murder your prisoner, Marshal?”
“Leave him alone,” Longarm ordered the deputy, “And put that damn gun away before I feed it to you.”
Trout whirled on Longarm and started to say something, but at that very moment Oakley shoved both of his long, muscular arms through the bars. One forearm looped around the deputy’s neck to choke and pin him helplessly against the cell while the prisoner’s other hand stabbed for the deputy’s six-gun.
Longarm jumped forward, watching the deputy’s eyes roll up in his head and expecting to hear the sound of Trout’s neck snapping like a dry stick before he could reach and help the fool. Longarm’s own hand stabbed for his gun even as Oakley’s palm closed on Trout’s weapon.
It would have been very close except that, when Oakley tried to yank Trout’s six-gun loose, its hammer hooked on one of the cross-bars of the cell door.
“Dammit!” Oakley howled, yanking savagely at the weapon even while he viciously throttled Trout until the deputy’s eyes rolled up into his skull and his legs buckled.
Longarm raised his Colt, took aim on Oakley’s forehead, and shouted, “Let him go and get back or I’ll kill you where you stand!”
The outlaw cursed and froze with indecision. His black eyes stared into the barrel of Longarm’s big gun. When Longarm cocked back the hammer and his finger tightened on the trigger, Oakley blinked and released the deputy’s gun. It clattered to the floor outside the cell.
“All right, Marshal Long, you win this time. Just ease that hammer down and don’t shoot.”
“Let go of him,” Longarm ordered.
“Sure,” Oakley said with a tight grin a moment before he gave the deputy a violent wrench and dropped him to the floor. Longarm stepped forward and grabbed Trout’s arm and gun. He pulled the unconscious lawman out into the middle of the room and felt for the deputy’s pulse. He was actually surprised to discover that Trout’s heart was still pumping.
“Did I break his damn neck?”
Longarm put his hands on both sides of Trout’s face and gently rolled the head back and forth. “I don’t hear any bones grating.”
He thumbed back Trout’s eyelids, and the pupils looked normal. “I think he’s going to be okay.”
“Yeah?” Oakley said, grinning. “Well, I’ll tell you something, Marshal Long. I just put a big jolt of fear into his miserable little heart. I’ll bet anything that I’ve broken his nerve, if he ever had any. He’s going to be useless to you and to himself for the rest of his life.”
Longarm glanced up at the prisoner. “You may be underestimating him.”
“I doubt it.” Oakley shrugged his broad shoulders and sucked on a knuckle he’d skinned while trying to yank Trout’s gun free. “Tell me, Long, are you really going to allow that fool to come along with us?”
“I can’t stop him. If he still wants to accompany you to Denver for that reward, that’s his choice.”
“Hell, man! We both know that Trout is a boy among us men. He’s gonna be more help to me than to YOU.”
Longarm was afraid that Oakley was right, but he didn’t comment.
“What this all boils down to, Marshal, is which of us is the better man. Why muck up the waters with the likes of a damned kid like Rick Trout?”
Longarm straightened and walked over to the cell. “I should kill you for trying to break his neck,” Longarm said. “I could do that, and Trout would back up my story that I had to shoot you in self-defense. It would save me a lot of time, money, and bother.”
Oakley wasn’t the least bit intimidated by Longarm’s bluff. He laughed, and it was not a pretty sound.
“Now, Marshal Long,” he drawled. “If you did that, wouldn’t it be against the law? I mean, aren’t lawmen supposed to protect the citizenry as well as their prisoners? I ain’t even had a fair trial yet, Marshal. You can’t wear a badge and be an executioner.”
Longarm went over to Wheeler’s desk and found the cell key as well as a pair of handcuffs, which he checked to make sure they were in good working order. Satisfied, he carried both back to Oakley’s cell door.
“Turn around and move over to the rear of the cell. Put your hands behind your back and get down on your knees.”
“Go to Hell,” Oakley said, folding his arms across his thick chest. “If you’re going to take me out of here, you’re going to have a fight.”
“Okay,” Longarm said, shoving the key into the cell door and unlocking it. “You leave me with no choice but to do this the hard way.”
Oakley grinned and balled his fists. “I don’t suppose that you’d like to leave your gun outside, would you, Marshal Long? You could just close that door and let the best man walk out alive. How does that sound?”
“Stupid,” Longarm said, aiming his six-gun at the killer, “real stupid. Now, turn around.”
Oakley’s eyes shuttered and his body tensed as he said, “You can go straight to Hell.”
Longarm took three quick steps forward and raised his pistol over his shoulder as if he were planning to slash the barrel down against Oakley’s skull. When the prisoner threw his hands up to deflect the blow, Longarm whipped the heavy pair of handcuffs he’d gotten from Wheeler’s desk in a tight, vicious arc. One of them struck Oakley in the middle of his forehead, opening up a deep gash. The prisoner grunted with pain and lunged blindly forward with blood streaming into his eyes. Longarm stepped out of the reach of Oakley’s thick outstretched arms. He threw out his leg, and Oakley tripped and his head slammed into the cell door.
Dazed and bleeding like a stuck hog, Oakley tried to climb back to his feet, but Longarm pounced on him like a big cat. He drove his knee between the prisoner’s shoulders and slammed him back to the floor. It took only a second or two to yank the prisoner’s arms up and handcuff him into submission.
“Damn you, Long!” Oakley cursed, blood still pouring down his face. “You got me this time, but it’s just the start.”
“Yeah,” Longarm said, dragging his prisoner to his feet. “And if you keep pushing my patience, I might just decide to put an end to your dangerous little game.”
In reply Oakley raised his boot and slammed his heel down hard where Longarm’s foot should have been resting. Longarm had seen the trick before, and had just managed to get his foot out of harm’s way.
“That ties it,” Longarm grated, bringing his pistol down hard against the back of Ford Oakley’s skull.
The big outlaw’s legs buckled and he dropped like he’d been shot in the head. Longarm used the man’s own gunbelt to tie up his legs. He locked the cell door and went to get himself a big meal before he loaded up his prisoner, and the worthless and still-unconscious young deputy, and headed for Elko via the Ruby Mountains.
A half hour later, he was enjoying a big meal that would probably be his last good feed until he arrived in Denver with his prisoner.
“Marshal?”
Longarm glanced up from his steak and potatoes to see Miss Molly Bean enter the little cafe. Except for one old cowboy who had evidently been on a drunk and whose hands were shaking so badly he could not bring a cup of coffee to his cracked lips, they were alone.
“Hello, Miss Bean,” Longarm said, admiring the way she looked in a white lacy dress.
“Mind if I join you?”
“Of course not,” Longarm said. “But I’m just finishing up and getting ready to go back to the marshal’s office.”
“Are you in charge of guarding the prisoner tonight?”
“Yes,” Longarm said, sipping coffee and liking the way a spray of freckles decorated Miss Bean’s pretty nose and how her eyes were sort of a greenish-brown. All in all, she was a very handsome young woman. Very handsome indeed.
“I spoke to Ernie and Ray this afternoon,” Molly said. “They’re extremely worried about transporting your prisoner back to Elko tomorrow. They fully expect that some of Ford Oakley’s friends are out there waiting to set him free.”