Longarm went hunting in the hotels and even the livery, but Eli was nowhere to be found. At least, not until he heard a man shout and emerge from an alley yelling, “Old Eli is dead! Someone cut his throat!”
Longarm bolted forward and rounded a building on a dead run. He sprinted up the alley and skidded to a halt beside Eli’s stiff corpse. Someone had cut the poor old bugger’s throat from ear to ear.
“Jezus!” a man croaked with revulsion. “Old Eli never had any money. Now, who in the world would do such a terrible thing?!”
“I don’t know,” Longarm said in a hard, flat voice, “but before I leave this country, I damn sure mean to find out.”
Chapter 9
Longarm couldn’t say for certain whether he was connected to Eli’s death or not. All he knew for sure was that the old prospector had met a very sad and violent end while Longarm’s own hopes of unraveling the mystery of Jimmy Cox had taken a major setback.
So what was he to do now? That afternoon, they had a funeral procession down the main street and Longarm followed it out to the cemetery. There weren’t a lot of people in attendance, mostly prospectors and town drunks, but it was clear that they had all been Eli’s good friends. One old codger, tall, proud looking, and in his sixties with a long, flowing white beard, seemed to be especially affected by Eli’s death. When Eli was placed in his grave, it was this man who took a Bible out of his coat pocket, smoothed it in his big hands, and then spoke for everyone.
“As you know,” he began, head bowed and hat in hand, “Eli Jones was my very best friend. I’ve lost two best friends lately, Eli and Jimmy Cox, who we all know is probably deader’n a doornail. And I don’t know how God can have ‘em end up so badly. but I sure do want to ask Him to welcome their departed souls.”
The man took a deep, shuddering breath, then continued, “Ain’t none us nothin’ but terrible sinners, Lord. You know that we all are. But, Lord, we ain’t the kind of son of a bitch that cut poor Eli’s throat or did away with Jimmy. Sure, we’ll whore and get drunk every chance we have, but we ain’t killers and none of us would ever hurt anyone out of spite or pleasure.”
“Amen!” another miner shouted. “Tell it sweet, Preacher Dan!”
“And so, Lord, take poor Eli’s soul to Your bosom and give him comfort in Your heaven. Give him good whiskey and meet, and some gold to fill his pockets. That’s all any one of us could ask of You, Father in heaven. Amen.”
Longarm was just as touched by the short but sincere sermon as anyone in attendance. And when a hat was passed around to cover the cost of Eli’s funeral, he contributed generously from the money he’d found hidden in Bass’s canyon cabin. Afterward, everyone trudged back to Wickenburg and proceeded to get roaring drunk. Everyone, that is, except for Preacher Dan, who lingered at the cemetery.
Not wishing to intrude, Longarm waited until the impressive old preacher returned to town and then intercepted him. “Excuse me, Preacher Dan,” he began, “but I’d like a word with you.”
The preacher stopped, and Longarm could see that his eyes were red from weeping. He had wide shoulders and must have been a fine specimen of manhood in his youth, but now those broad shoulders sagged with defeat and too many hard years.
“What do you want?” the preacher asked in a voice raspy with emotion.
“I need your help,” Longarm said.
“I don’t understand-“
Longarm reached into his pocket and dragged out his federal badge. “I’m a United States deputy marshal and my name is Custis Long. I came all the way from Denver to arrest Hank Bass and to find out what happened to my old friend Jimmy Cox. Last night, I made a bargain with Eli, who agreed to help me find Jimmy.”
The preacher stared at the badge in Longarm’s fist. He took a deep, ragged breath and asked, “What has this to do with me?”
“You said that Jimmy Cox was your other best friend. I thought, given that two of them are gone, you might want to help me find out who killed them. I can’t do it without your help, Preacher.”
The big man had ice-blue eyes, so sad that Longarm wondered what awful suffering he had endured in this world.
“Marshal, I’m very sorry, but I can’t help you,” he finally decided aloud.
“If you don’t, Eli’s murderer will never be found. You see, I’m pretty sure he was killed because someone learned that he was going to help me find Jimmy Cox.”
“I doubt that.”
“The man was broke,” Longarm said. “He had nothing to steal. As far as I could tell, the only thing he had of value was the knowledge of where to start looking for Jimmy.”
“Pure speculation, Marshal.”
“When it comes to murder, I’m a good speculator, Preacher. And I need your help.”
“In what way could I possibly be of assistance?”
“if you three were close friends, then you must know where Jimmy Cox vanished. You’re the only hope I have of saving him.”
“I’m sure that it’s too late for that.”
Longarm’s jaw muscles corded. “But what if you are wrong?! What if Jimmy is still alive and is being held hostage while someone tries to learn the whereabouts of that Spanish treasure in gold coins?!” When the man didn’t answer, Longarm said, “Preacher, are you really willing to take that chance? Or, put in another way, to take away what might be Jimmy’s only chance to live?”
“No,” the man whispered, “I’m not. What do you propose?”
“I propose that you lead me to Jimmy Cox. Or at least to the vicinity of where he told you he discovered those gold coins.”
Preacher Dan pulled on his long white beard. “You seem very, very sure that I can do this.”
“You’re a man of faith,” Longarm said. “I could hear faith in your words as you spoke over Eli’s grave.”
“I have faith that the Lord will judge those who have murdered my friends. I have no faith in you, Marshal. Or in any other man.”
“Look,” Longarm said, desperate to find the words that would win this deeply religious but stubborn man over to his side, “Eli didn’t want to help me either, until I told him that there is a real possibility that Jimmy Cox is still alive, still being held captive until he either dies or breaks and tells where to find that treasure.”
“How do you know this?”
“I know it,” Longarm said, “because he sent me a newspaper and a note asking for help. That’s why I came all the way to this Arizona Territory. And that’s why I’m not going away until I either save Jimmy or give him a proper burial like Eli just received. But to do that, I need your help.”
“Very well,” Preacher Dan said after a long deliberation. “You shall have it to the extent that I can give it. But I warn you, I will not be a part or a party to vengeance. “Vengeance is mine alone, sayeth the Lord.’”
“Yeah, I’ve heard that, but I’ve also heard “An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth,’ Preacher. But don’t worry. I wouldn’t think of asking you to take up arms against rapists and murderers. Or to save either of our lives if we are walking into our own graves.”
“I don’t fear death. Do you?”
“Yes,” Longarm said, “I sure do. But then, I don’t have your faith either.”
“Perhaps it will grow as we go off into the desert.”
“Perhaps.”
The preacher frowned. “Do you have an outfit suitable for the desert country?”
“No, but I have the money to buy one.”
“Just as good. Give me the money and I’ll buy what you need for the journey we must take.”
Longarm handed Preacher Dan the money.
“There,” the man said, at last managing a smile. “You have just shown your first great act of faith in giving this money to a stranger.”
“You aren’t going to run out on me,” Longarm replied. “And I’m not going to let you out of my sight.”
The smile died. “Then you don’t have any faith in me.”