Longarm sat back down on the bench and watched as Higgins hurried out the back. He was the busiest person Longarm thought he’d ever seen.
When the stationkeeper was out of sight, Longarm thoughtfully poured the rest of his glass of rum down in the lye water. He figured it would do his feet a hell of a lot more good than it would his stomach.
But Higgins was also wrong about the mules and the other company property. They weren’t his to lend or give, but they were Longarm’s to requisition. The stage line was a public conveyance running over a public road with the government’s permission. Longarm, as a federal officer, could make use of anything he chose, from a mule to a coach and driver if it came down to it. But right then, he didn’t want Higgins to know he was a federal marshal. The old man was already falling all over himself with hospitality. Longarm couldn’t imagine what he’d be like if he caught sight of the badge. Just then Higgins came in from the back. “Mr. Long, we be gettin’ all set up for you out back. My ol’ woman is gatherin’ up her doin’s and the back will be yor’n. ‘Less you be over-modest, you ought to be able to get yoreself a good cleanin’ up. I reckon I can maybe even find you somethin’ to dry off with.”
Longarm said, “I doubt that will be necessary, Mr. Higgins. I reckon the hard part will be to get any water to stay on without drying up in that sun before a man can do any washing.”
He stepped carefully out of the bucket of lye water. He’d expected his feet to be very tender on the rough wood floor, but they felt surprisingly normal. He looked down. They were as white as ever, but a good deal of the redness had gone. He said, surprised, “Hell, Mr. Higgins, I think this lye water might have been just the ticket.” The old man nodded vigorously. “Do it ever’ time. That there stuff will cure ever’thang from a hernia to a broken heart. You get yore gear and I’ll fetch that bucket. You can use it to douse down with.”
Longarm gathered up his saddlebags and limped across the floor. But he was limping more in fear of pain than actual pain.
Higgins said, “Soon’s we get you stripped, I’ll give yore dirty duds to the ol’ woman an’ she’ll get ‘em slicked up nice an’ clean for you.”
It was coming on to late afternoon. Longarm and Higgins were sitting where they had previously. Longarm was wearing a pair of clean, heavy wool socks. He was not about to try his boots yet, and in fact, Higgins had discouraged the idea vigorously until Longarm’s feet had had two or three more treatments of the lye water. Longarm was feeling almost human. He was clean and wearing clean clothes and had managed to shave, though working up a lather with lye soap produced about the same results as if he had been using a rock. The only thing missing for his return to normal was food. He spoke to Higgins about it, making sure Higgins understood he could pay.
Higgins said, “Now, we do be a vittles station fer the passengers. They lays over here right at a half to three quarters of an hour, depending on what a rush the driver is in. They gets the company fare of pinto beans and grits and cornmeal and either canned tomatoes or canned peaches. We give ‘em coffee too. Course we ain’t got no beef. But ever’ damn fool comes through here expects a steak and will even demand it.” He shook his head and snorted. “A few months in the winter and we can nurse a side of beef along, but right now? Hell.” He pointed toward the front of the building. “Was I to hang a side of beef out there at sundown, it’d be froze nearly by dawn. Then, by mid-mornin’ it’d be plumb thawed. By noon you’d be walkin’ upwind of it, and by three in the afternoon a fly wouldn’t light on it.” He gave a disgusted sound. “An’ there is them as comes in here wantin’ beef! My stars and garters.”
Longarm said, “Some of them beans and grits and cornbread sound pretty good to me.”
Higgins threw up his head. “Why, nosir! Not on yore tintype! Why, I feel like I brung you back from the dead. Me and my ol’ woman keep ham and bacon fer ourselves, and she’s got her a run full of chickens out there. Fries one up on occasion or makes dumplin’s with it. My ol’ woman kin cook, I’m a-tellin’ you.”
Longarm had met Higgins’s “ol’ woman.” She had proved to be a pleasant-faced woman in her late thirties or early forties. What flesh Higgins was missing she had taken for herself. Not that she was fat, Longarm thought, just pleasantly plump. He wondered how she stayed so good-natured out in the middle of the desert.
Longarm said, “I wouldn’t want to put her to no trouble. Sylvia.” That was her first name, and she had insisted that Longarm call her that.
“Pshaw!” Higgins exclaimed. “She’d get her feelin’s hurt she would if you didn’t let her cook fer you. I’ll get her to whomp you up a big bait of eggs and biscuits, and would you druther ham or bacon?”
“Ham’s fine with me. And I would sure drink a cup of coffee. Still got a little of my whiskey left to sweeten it with.”
Higgins got up to go deliver Longarm’s order. He frowned. “Now you don’t be shy ‘bout drinkin’ my rum. Ain’t no use in swillin down them corn squeezin’s when they is good rum to drink.”
Longarm tried to look guileless. Privately he was about halfway convinced that it was the half-glass of rum he’d poured in the lye water that had done his feet the most good, but he didn’t want to take the slightest chance on hurting his host’s feelings. “Herman,” he said, “I am much obliged, and I know a good drink when I taste one. But I got to tell you, that little trip through the desert left me in a kind of weakened state and I ain’t up to that stout a drink just yet. I reckon I better stick to corn whiskey.”
Higgins snapped his fingers. “My stars and garters! I never thought! What in the world is the matter with me.” He shook his head and slapped himself on the forehead. “I’m gettin’ the poorest set of manners in the country. Sylvie will be on me I don’t watch out. And oh, can she be a wampus kitty! Whoooeee!”
When Higgins came back, Longarm was trying to smoke the second cigar the old man had given him. But when he’d bathed and shaved he’d managed to clean his teeth with some baking soda and salt, and his clean mouth only showed off the age of the cigar more. Nevertheless, he was giving it a valiant effort. He’d had a good swallow of his Maryland whiskey, and was feeling content except for the worrisome problem of Carl Lowe.
He said to Higgins, “Herman, I have just got to get up north. I need to make it to a railroad junction somewhere close to Phoenix. Are you and your wife the only ones here?”
“Well, they is the two Mexicans helps me with the stock. But they ain’t got nothin’. I tell you, Mr. Long, the company jes’ won’t let you have no way to get around on yore own. They done lost too many stationkeepers like that. Gets mighty lonesome and mean out here and some folks can’t take it and they light ‘em a shuck out of the place. Been plenty drivers come pulling in to a station with a team all lathered up and snorty and nobody to meet ‘em and no fresh team ready. Course I tell ‘em if they’d get married couples like me an’ the ol’ woman, they wouldn’t have that trouble.”
“Yeah,” Longarm said, discouraged. “I can see how that would be a problem for them.” He grimaced. “That next station north is twenty miles, right?”
“Yessir.”
He studied the far wall for a moment. “I wonder if I could ride one of those little mules twenty miles. I wonder who’d give out first, him or me.”
Higgins said, “I doubt if it could be managed. I got to tell you, Mr. Long, them mules ain’t the tamest critters you ever been around. And they damn shore ain’t saddle-broke, as them Mexicans has found out to their sorrow. You must have some all-fired powerful business waitin’ on you to have you frettin’ like this. Laws, it ain’t been much more’n five hours since you staggered in here near dead. Now you are afire to get on out under that sun again.”