Higgins said happily, “Oh, it’ll be just fine in a minute. You just set right still while I fetch you a restorative.”
Longarm watched while the wiry little man sprang across the room, went behind his makeshift bar, and poured something out of a bottle into a glass. At first Longarm had thought Higgins was along in his sixties, but he had so much energy and verve that Longarm was rapidly revising his estimate downward. Higgins looked no bigger than a scrawny banty rooster, and his crop of three-or four-day-old whiskers was peppered with white, but he had the energy of a man not much more than forty or so. He came bounding back to Longarm holding out a water glass half full of an amber liquid. He said proudly, “That there is rum. And it is rum of the finest kind. That is Spanish rum made down in Mexico. I generally charge four bits a shot for that drink, but it is on the house seeing as how I am rescuing you.”
Longarm took the glass doubtfully. Given a choice of drinking the lye water or the rum, it might have been a tossup. He drank whiskey by choice, and would drink brandy or wine or beer, but he had never cared for rum. But he couldn’t hurt the old man’s feelings. And besides, it might make him feel better. He put the glass to his lips and drank off half the liquor, repressing a shudder. If Higgins thought what he had was good rum, then Longarm didn’t want to try any he was not so proud of. But he said, “Aaaaah. Boy, that hit the spot.” Higgins nudged the bucket close to Longarm’s feet. “‘Bout time we got on with the doctorin’.”
Longarm looked at the water and then at his tender-looking feet. He picked them up and held them poised over the bucket. Then slowly and tentatively, he gradually eased them down in the murky waters. At first he thought the water was too hot, but then he realized it was the lye water playing hell with the raw places on his feet. He let out a yowl and jerked his feet out of the bucket. Glaring at Higgins, he said, “Damn, Herman, that kind of smarts! How about weakening that down a little?”
Higgins looked doubtful, but he went over to the long, rough dining table and came back with a pitcher of water. With Longarm urging him on, he finally poured about a glassful of fresh water in the bucket. He said, “Ain’t gonna do you no good a’tall iffen it ain’t got some bite to it.”
Longarm gave him a look and growled that it had more bite than a bulldog as it was. Then he grudgingly put his feet back in the water. The dilution, as far as he was concerned, had not helped a bit. But he gritted his teeth and forced himself to keep his feet down in the bucket. Such was the agony that he even emptied the glass of rum without tasting it.
Higgins said, “See, what it does is toughens up the skin so it ain’t raw and sore anymore.”
Longarm said, “I believe if a man was to bathe in the stuff, it would toughen his hide so he’d come out bulletproof. If it didn’t kill him.”
Higgins said, “Let me get you another restorative.” And before Longarm could stop him he’d plucked the glass out of his hand and skipped over to the bar to fetch back some more of his “fine Spanish rum.”
Longarm said, “You ain’t got so much as a cigar around here, do you? Or a rope that is smokable?”
“Got a seegar!” Higgins said triumphantly. “Got two of ‘em, as a matter of fact. Might have a little age on them. We ain’t exactly set up for retail trade.”
Higgins brought the drink back and handed it, along with a musty-looking cigar, to Longarm. Then he found himself a ladder-backed cane-bottomed chair and drew it up in front of the marshal. He said, “Walked two days, did ya. I reckon you are glad to set a spell.”
Longarm found a match and got the cigar drawing, though it was hard work. He took a sip of the rum, to be polite, and said, “Mr. Higgins, I’ve got to get my hands on a horse. I got business up the road.”
Higgins shook his head. “I’m mighty sorry to tell you that you are out of luck in that department. And the southbound stage done come through this morning, and the northbound ain’t due for three days.”
Longarm drew hard at the cigar. It was at least tobacco. “It’s north I need to go, Mr. Higgins. Surely you’ve got some kind of horse around here. Hell, this is a relay station.”
Higgins nodded. He swept his arm toward the back of the room. “You walk right out there, mister, an’ you can pick you out any Spanish mule you want. Probably got thirty on the place. You want to travel up the road on one of them little onery cusses, you are more than welcome.”
Longarm grimaced. He was irritated at himself. He knew this stage line. Knew its route and knew its purpose. It ran from the gold mines down near the Mexican border beginning at Lukeville up through Gunsight, to Ajo, through Gila Bend, and finally into Buckeye, where it linked up with the railroad that ran east and west out of Phoenix. It was not really a passenger line, its main purpose being the hauling of gold bullion out of the mines located around the Organ Pipe Cactus Mountains. They didn’t even use the big, comfortable Butterfield coaches, preferring wagons that were about twice the size of a buckboard and were covered with a canvas top. They were pulled by a team of eight fine-boned Spanish mules that could go at a gallop for the twenty miles between relay stations, and then maybe go another twenty before they dropped dead. The teams were so hard to stop that, sometimes, the driver had to circle his team out in front of the station until the stationkeeper, or someone, could get hold of the leaders and bring them to a halt. No horses were ever used in the rough and dry country. They couldn’t take it the way the little mules could. Unfortunately, the little mules were too ornery to make riding stock.
Longarm said, “Damn!” He thought a minute. “Mr. Higgins, I’ve got important business to the north that just won’t wait three days. Ain’t you got some kind of wagon or buggy I could hitch a couple of those mules to?” He reached into his pocket and partially exposed his roll of bills. “If it is a matter of money …
Higgins looked sad. “Mr. Long, I’d mighty like to accommodate you and without a dollar bein’ spent. But the fact is these here mules an’ all the property, fer that matter, is company property an’ ain’t mine to do with as I sees fit. So money don’t come into it at all. I taken a likin’ to you right from the start. Man gone through what you’d done an’ still had him a sense of humor. So I’d he’p you if I could. But they ain’t a conveyance or a buggy or even a sled that will get you a mile from this place. Now, I don’t know if that thinkin’ is directed at the stationkeeper or not, but they won’t let me nor none of the rest keep a horse or anything else a body can use for travel. The stationkeeper arrives here on the stage, an’ when he is ready to quit the place he’s got to leave on the stage.” Higgins snorted. “Make a man think them folks didn’t trust us to stay on the job.”
Longarm suppressed a smile. “Well, it would seem that way,” he said. He slowly stood, his feet still in the lye water, and looked down at himself. “Lord, I’m a mess. I’d give a pretty penny to get washed off.”
Higgins said, “You got clean clothes?”
Longarm nodded toward his saddlebags. “Oh, yes. But I ain’t putting them on as filthy as I am.”
Higgins began bobbing his head. “You just never mind that. You soak yore feet a little time more, an’ I’ll go out back and run my ol’ woman in the house, and you can take this bucket out by the well and just douse yourself down. How’s that sound?”
Longarm said, “Sounds mighty good to me. What about the grub department? I ain’t had much in that line the last three or four days.”
Higgins’s head bobbed again. “You never mind that. We’ll get that tended to in time. Now, whyn’t you go ahead and set down and finish yore rum, an’ I’ll go out an’ tell the old woman to get set to move her matters into the house.” He gestured at Longarm’s clothes. “An’ she can give them a washing whilst she is about it.”