That hadn’t happened yet, though, so Jesse was stuck with the problem. He dropped that foot, sighed heavily, wiped off the hooked-shaped bit of wrought iron he was using for a hoof pick, and then bent to pick up yet another foot. Six mules. Twenty-four feet to keep cleaned and healthy. For without strong, healthy feet the most willing of mules isn’t going to pull worth a damn. And it is the driver’s responsibility to see to the welfare of his stock. No one else’s.
Jesse laboriously completed the task of picking each hoof so that it was free of impacted stones or pea gravel, then stepped back and allowed George and the Talking Water hostler to lead the harnessed mules into position and fasten them into the traces ready for the long downhill run—more or less—to distant Bitter Creek.
Longarm waited until the last moment, then tossed the butt of a cheroot aside and climbed into the stagecoach with a bare nod in Madelyn Williams Bell’s direction.
The simple truth of the matter was that he was feeling downright embarrassed with the situation on the loading platform.
The thing was, Maddy was there to see them off. And so was Mrs. Overton. And there old Tyler stood, saying good-bye to two different women, each of whom was carrying his kid in her belly. And, well, Longarm sure as hell didn’t consider himself any kind of a prude. But this was more than he was prepared for.
Fortunately he didn’t have to say much of anything himself, if only because there was no point in trying to talk. Talking Water was more than living up to its name at the moment. The sound of the water cascading over the rocks in the nearby creek was so loud it was almost impossible to hear anything shy of a deliberate roar.
Which, mercifully enough, saved Longarm from having to come up with words that he didn’t particularly want to say.
And besides, Maddy knew he would do his best for her presumably innocent husband. He’d already told her he would do that. Anything more would just be so much extra shit added to a pile that was already in place, so why bother.
Over on the platform Longarm could see Tyler Overton shaking Maddy’s hand—acting oh, so proper and dignified while he did it—and then giving his mousy little wife a peck on the cheek in farewell.
It was a wonder half the womenfolk of Talking Water weren’t lined up waiting for the fat lawyer to give them a good-bye grope.
But then that wasn’t being entirely fair, was it, Longarm admitted silently to himself. After all, he didn’t know the whole of the story here. Didn’t know who’d first suggested what. Or what all might lie behind a moment’s lapse … or a lifetime of deliberate lapses. That was the point. He just didn’t know. And really shouldn’t ought to judge. Longarm gave himself a stern reminder to that effect and looked away.
A moment later he felt the coach sag on that side as a passenger’s weight was added, and Overton settled onto the middle seat beside Longarm, giving out a loud grunt from the effort of climbing into the vehicle. The man was damn sure out of shape if a couple of simple steps could cause him that much discomfort.
Longarm shifted over a fraction of an inch to give Overton a touch more sitting room. The coach tilted and swayed once more as another couple of passengers came aboard.
Overton obviously knew the men, nodding to them and speaking to them by name. Whatever the names were, Longarm couldn’t catch them due to the loud chatter of the creek.
Slowly the coach filled with southbound passengers—all male, Longarm noted with no particular pleasure—while outside Maddy and Doris Overton dutifully waited to wave good-bye.
Finally George climbed onto the driving box and made sure the brake was set, while Jesse made a last-minute walk-around to make sure all was to his liking, then picked up the hitch weight that had been clipped to the off leader’s bit ring. He wiped the muddy iron weight with a scrap of coarse sackcloth, and tossed the weight and leather hitch line into the boot at the back of the coach.
Jesse shouted something to the Talking Water agent, and with a grin and a wave climbed onto the box beside George.
Longarm heard the rifle-shot crack of Jesse’s whip cut through the babble of water noises, and the Concord lurched into motion.
Overnight to Bitter Creek, Longarm figured, then a short train trip east. Jog down to the new Medicine Bow diggings. And with any kind of luck they’d be able to find Windy Williams and prove Maddy’s husband an innocent man in time to avert the hanging that was to take place first thing Monday morning. Piece of cake, Longarm thought, But then, how was a man to know?
Chapter 19
By the time they got to McCarthy Falls that evening there was no remaining trace of the heavy snow that had fallen so recently. The day had been so warm that even the shadowed north faces of the mountainsides were melted clean, nothing but brown dirt, green fir, and gray rock showing where there had been a blanket of near-solid white just that morning.
“I was afraid there’d be drifts to block the way,” one of the other passengers observed as he climbed down from the coach and stretched his legs. “Reckon now that Goshen Pass is behind we can count on easy running the rest of the way.”
Jesse gave the man a dark look and opened his mouth as if to respond, then clamped his jaw shut as he thought better of whatever he might have said. The coach driver bent and once again began the laborious task of cleaning each of twenty-four hoofs.
George handed down luggage for one of the three men who were leaving the coach at McCarthy Falls, and secured the bags of two women who were boarding there.
Longarm was surprised to see that these were the same two ladies—he used the term as a matter of politeness, not description—who had ridden with him from Bitter Creek on the upbound journey just the day before. It seemed that they too were making the same quick turnaround that Longarm and Tyler Overton were.
“Everything all right?” Longarm asked Jesse as he offered the driver a cheroot and held a match to light both smokes, then handed a third cigar up to George.
Again Jesse opened his mouth, hesitated, and decided not to venture any guesses. “We’ll see,” was as far as the stagecoach jehu would commit himself.
There was time enough, but barely, for the through passengers to piss and maybe buy a dry sandwich from one of the butcher boys who were on hand in search of a sale. The coach was ready to roll out again before Longarm had time to finish his cheroot. He leaned in the doorway to ask the women if they would mind if he brought a cigar aboard with him, but like Jesse, decided to let the speech die unborn after he saw the venomous look one of the women was sending his way.
He settled for clearing his throat and stepping back to suck in a few quick, deep drags before he threw the half-smoked cigar aside—damn, but it hurt his feelings to have to do that—and was the last passenger to return to the coach.
The big Concord, several tons of wood and iron and vulnerable flesh, lurched and jolted and began a sickening sideways slide that brought a leap of discomfort into the pit of Longarm’s stomach and sent several of the dozing passengers tumbling onto the floor.
“Whoa, goddammit, whoa,” Jesse shouted. Not that there was much of anything the mules could do about the slide.
Longarm grabbed hold of the arm of one of the women to keep her from landing on the floor atop a salesman of medicinal products. Which earned him a grunt of thanks from the woman and a glance of sharp annoyance from the salesman, who obviously wouldn’t have minded having the lady on top.
The coach wheels hit something solid and rebounded sharply back the other way, the sudden change of direction accompanied by the sound of wood splintering.