The water was starting to revive him, but it was also letting him know just how nearly done in he’d come close to being. Longarm took another drink and then said in a croaky voice, “I got to get these boots off. Feet are in a hell of a shape.”
The old man went to bend over, but Longarm stopped him. “No, they can’t be pulled off, not just like that.” He put the dipper down, leaned over, and pulled up his jeans until the tops of his boots were exposed. “Pour some water in there, if you will,” he said.
The old man picked up the bucket, but before he poured he said, “Blisters?”
Longarm nodded. “On blisters.”
“Hot damn!” the old man said. “You be in luck, mister. My old woman is out back bilin’ clothes right now in lye soap. She gets finished, I’ll fetch in some of that lye water. Best thang in the world for galled feet!”
Longarm said tiredly, “Let’s get the boots off before we go to soaking my feet.”
He watched while the old man poured a generous amount of water down the top of each boot. Even though it was nearly lukewarm, the water brought instant relief to his aching, burning feet. Fortunately he’d been wearing an old pair of boots that had nearly put in their time and were worn and loose. But still, his feet were so swollen he knew it was going to be a chore to get the boots off. But the water would make the leather slicker and cause it to expand just a little. The old man said, “You ready to give ‘er a try?”
Longarm looked at the wooden floor. It was scarred and stained, but it was still inside the house. He said, “I reckon we better go outside. I dump a load of water on your wife’s floor, she’s liable to run me back out in that desert.”
But the old man said, “Pshaw! She don’t kere a fig ‘bout that. This ol’ floor has seen worse than a little water on it.” He bent down and took hold of Longarm’s right boot. “Let ‘er rip.”
Longarm leaned back and slowly wiggled and pulled. Slowly his stockinged foot emerged. It had come out much easier than he’d thought, and not so much water had spilled on the floor.
“Now the other’n. I’ll take ‘er right easy an’ you sing out iffen I’m goin’ too quick.”
In another moment he was sitting in his stocking feet, his head down almost between his knees. The left foot appeared more swollen. At least it had wanted out of the boot less than the right. Longarm took a long slow breath while the old man took his boots outside to empty the rest of the water out of them. He was about to call out for the stationkeeper not to leave his boots in the sun to dry when the old man appeared with them and put them carefully against the wall, saying, “I’ll grease the inside of these with some tallow I got. Keep ‘em from stiffening up. You better get them stockings off and let’s see what we got to work with.”
Slowly, painfully, Longarm peeled off his thick, woolen socks and then looked down at his feet. They were dead white except for some angry blotches along the sides and the back. There were red spots on a few of his toes and the balls of each foot, but they looked considerably better than he’d expected.
The old man said, “Why, pshaw, them ain’t so bad. I seen worse on horses had to be shot.”
Longarm said, mumbling, “I washed ‘em in whiskey.”
The old man’s head shot up. Longarm could see the signs of a drinker in his eyes and his face. “You warshed ‘em in what?”
“Whiskey. I started out I had two quarts of water and a half a quart of whiskey.” With an effort he unslung the strap of the canteen from around his neck. It clanked to the floor with an empty sound. “I got here with no water, but a little bonded Maryland corn whiskey. I think the alcohol saved my feet.”
The old man looked at him, marveling. He said, “I heard me many a trick in my time, but that is the beatenist. Takes some kind of man to give the whiskey to his feet and the water to his belly. My stars and garters, you’ll be up and around in no time. How far you say you walked?”
Longarm shook his head. “Don’t know. Walked for two days. Never done that before. How far can a man walk in two days? Ten miles? Twenty?”
“More like thirty or forty if he stays at it right steady. Say you got lost?”
Longarm half smiled. “Something like that. Horse broke his leg.”
The old man stood up and frowned. “You ain’t tellin’ me you was out in yonder country with just the one mount?”
Longarm took off his hat and wiped his brow. He set his hat along the bench to let his head cool off if it would and said, “Well, I hadn’t planned it that way, but that’s the way it worked out. You the stationkeeper?”
“Yessir, yessir,” the old man said. He put out a bony hand. “Higgins be the name. Herman Higgins. Right glad to see you.”
Longarm shook hands. “Name is Custis Long, Mr. Higgins. I am right grateful for your help. I had me a map and this looked to be the closest help. I’m glad you were here.”
The old man’s face went blank “Wa’l, I’ll be straight with you, mister,” he said, “they was just about a fuzz away from skiddin’ the whole kit and caboodle twenty miles west, but I talked ‘em out of it right at the last minute. I said, reckon what would happen if some pilgrim come walkin’ in from the east an’ we was gone! Wouldn’t want that on yore conscious, would you? Well, sir, they seen my point and they took it an’ that’s why you found us where we be.”
Longarm tried to smile, but he couldn’t put much into it. He said, “Well, anyway, my feet thank you.”
The old man snapped his fingers as if he had just recollected something important. “The lye water!” He scooped up the bucket by the rope handle and took off toward the back. “Won’t be ary a minute!”
“Not too hot!” Longarm yelled after him. “And not too strong!”
He wasn’t all that sold on lye water. From what little he’d heard about people getting blisters on their feet, you were supposed to grease them down good with axle grease or some such. Lye water seemed a trifle harsh a treatment.
But even then, with his feet paining him and his body given out and used up and dried out, he was still rankled about Carl Lowe. The man now had a minimum of two days on him, but as soon as Longarm could lay his hands on a horse he intended to be right back after Lowe. He had a pretty good idea where Lowe was going, and if he could arrive in time, he thought he might catch up with the man.
Higgins came bustling back with his bucket. It was full of grayish water that smelled a little like sulphur and had steam rising from it. Longarm calculated that any liquid that had steam rising from it in the heat of an Arizona day was hotter than he cared to stick anything in, especially his sore feet. He said, “Water that down a little, Mr. Higgins, if you please. And cool it off.”