Fortunately, the outcome proved no worse than mild annoyance. Longarm returned the candle to its shelf inside the outhouse and blew it out, then went to wash up. While he was at it he washed the blood off his neck and pressed a fingertip over the slightly stinging wound where the splinter had struck, making sure the tiny opening clotted over and the bleeding stopped. Then he went back inside and slipped out of the rubber boots.
As far as he could tell all the other passengers and stage line employees were at supper, although there was considerable movement to and from the buffet serving table and a sort of fluid shifting about of people, so it would have taken a deliberate focus of attention to determine if everyone was in fact present.
Not wanting to embarrass anyone, Longarm waited until Howard Burdick headed for the kitchen on some errand, then followed the station manager.
“Yes, Marshal? Something I can do for you?”
“I was wondering, Howard, if you have kids.”
“What an odd question. But in fact yes, Jean and I have two daughters and a son. Our daughters are twenty and eighteen. Both are married. Ellie and her young man live in Illinois. He’s a printer by trade. And our younger girl Elaine is up in Virginia City. They’ve opened a store there.”
It wasn’t the girls Longarm was interested in, but he saw no reason to interrupt Burdick because of that.
“Both girls married very fine young men, we are glad to say. As for our son, Glendon is in Bitter Creek. He boards there so he can attend the high school there. We want him to complete high school at the very least. College too if he is willing to take it on. Jean and I have hopes of him becoming a doctor or a lawyer or something fine like that.” Burdick smiled. “Glendon himself has visions more on the order of being a cowboy. But then he is only fourteen. We’re sure his views will change as he gets older.” Longarm frowned.
“Is there something wrong with that, Marshal?” Burdick asked.
“Pardon? Oh, uh, no, o’ course not. An’ I’m sure you’re right. Boys grow up, thank goodness. I, uh, your son bein’ in Bitter Creek isn’t what I expected t’ hear, that’s all.”
He explained about the accidental shooting outside.
“What I figured,” Longarm said, “was that you folks had a son, all right, but that he was out there tryin’ to plink off some rats an’ wasn’t paying mind to where his bullets were going. But if the boy is down in town …”
“That really is odd, I grant you,” Burdick agreed. “Quite apart from Glendon not being here, we don’t have a rat problem. We used to until we got cats. Brought in two kittens, actually. That was several years ago. Now there are dozens of half-wild tabbies that live mostly in the bayricks and keep the rodents under control. And the owls and hawks and wild bobcats, of course, keep the cat population from getting out of hand. But … no, Marshal, there is no one around here who would have been shooting. Not at this hour when there is no light for target practice. For that matter, I don’t own a .22. When we did used to shoot rats, it was always with a small-bore shotgun and light loads. I’ve never owned a rifle of any sort and never a pistol smaller than a .44.”
“Damned strange, ain’t it?” Longarm asked.
“Yes, it most certainly is.”
“I, uh, don’t s’pose you noticed anyone leave the place after I did.”
“marshal, I’m sorry. But the truth is that I never noticed you leave, much less anyone going out after you. Or before. It just wasn’t- …”
“Yeah. O’ course. Sorry. Look, I’m sure it was an accident. Could o’ been anything, someone walking out for a smoke or just t’ be alone for a few minutes, Coulda thought he saw one of those bobcats or coulda mistook one O’ your cats for a rat. For that matter coulda thrown a shot at a cat deliberately, just for the meanness of it. Likely we won’t never know. An’ it isn’t important. There was no harm done, so we won’t say nor do anything more about it, all right?”
“That is certainly fine with me if it is with you, Marshal. After all, you are the offended party.”
“Like I said, no harm done. We’ll leave ‘er be.”
“Good enough.” Burdick motioned for Longarm to turn to his left. “Lean down a minute and let me look at that. Jean has some salve if … no, I don’t think you need medication. I can barely see where it hit you. Lucky it was just a splinter in that spot, though. If it had been the bullet, I suspect you would be a dead man now.”
“Yeah. Lucky,” Longarm agreed. “An’ now I reckon I’d best go see what your good wife put on the table.” He grinned. “Can’t let those other rannies get too far ahead of me, you know. Besides, I got to keep my strength up. The way things are going it could be quickest t’ walk the rest of the way down t’ Bitter Creek instead o’ waiting for this mud to dry or freeze over.”
“I recommend the ham pot pie, Marshal. Jean outdid herself with that today.”
“Thanks for the tip, Howard. An’ for the doctoring.”
“Any time, Marshal.” Burdick paused and frowned. “Not that I mean you should need more doctoring. I just meant …”
Longarm chuckled. “I know what you meant, Howard. An’ I thank you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve developed a fine hunger all of a sudden, an’ it’s gonna take some ham pot pie t’ satisfy my needs.”
Burdick, he discovered, was right. The pot pie was exceptional.
As for the accidental shooting, he let the matter drop without looking to embarrass anyone.
Chapter 25
The day had been such a bitch for everyone concerned that there was no thought of the visitors sitting up late talking or reading or playing cards. The unspoken consensus seemed to be that the best thing was for everyone to go to bed early and hope tomorrow would be an improvement upon today.
Burdick’s was set up as a relay station and eating establishment, but no one had made any real provision for the housing of guests. Rather the visitors were expected to eat while the mule team was being changed and then get back on the road. They were expected to be passers-through, not overnighters.
Consequently there were neither beds nor bedding to accommodate all the guests, and Howard and Jean Burdick had to scramble to try and make everyone more or less comfortable.
They resolved the issue by giving the station building over to the women, the two southbound whores and the one lady who was traveling north. Along, of course, with the Burdicks themselves in their own private quarters.
The menfolk were told they could bed down in the hay sheds adjacent to the low-roofed barn and corral complex where all the mules were housed. The Burdicks had a few spare blankets over and above those deemed necessary for the comfort of the women. These they laid out for the men to use, although there were only four blankets and, including the stagecoach crews, fifteen men to share them.
Longarm liked these other fellows well enough, he supposed. But he dam sure didn’t like them that well that he intended crawling under a blanket with one or more of them, not even the cleanest of them. The hell with that.
And it wasn’t like there was any biting cold to have to overcome anyhow.
Hell, if it were cold enough that a man couldn’t sleep in a hay pile, it would have been cold enough for the ground to freeze and they wouldn’t have had this problem to begin with.
Longarm wished it would up and get bitter, nasty, miserable cold.
Then they could hitch up the coach and make it on down the road to Bitter Creek, where the steel rails would make chinook winds and a whole damned sea of mud irrelevant.
As it was, well, he would settle for a hayrick to crawl into. He’d slept under worse conditions than that before, and almost certainly would have to again.
Howard Burdick handed out a couple of jugs of Indian whiskey for the men to share for nightcap purposes.