“I have no idea,” Longarm said. “I can’t even imagine why they would have carried gold coins.”
“To buy favors or peace from the hostile Indians they expected to come across, I’d guess.”
“Yeah, that makes sense,” Longarm said. “I wonder if the Indians had a role in their undoing.”
“Probably.”
Longarm looked closer at the old man. “Why do you say that?”
“Because,” Dan reasoned, “if the Apache or whatever bunch that were in these parts at the time were friendly, they would have saved the Spaniards. They would have known how to survive and find water and whatever else they needed. But the fact that they didn’t save the Spaniards tells me that they considered them to be enemies.”
Longarm figured that made a lot of sense. He didn’t know much about the history of exploration in the American Southwest, but he did know that the Spaniards had penetrated very deep into this country in search of the legendary Seven Lost Cities of Gold. They’d already plundered the Incan and Mayan cultures in Peru and Mexico and taken immense fortunes. No doubt their previous successes had convinced them that they would find even more riches in the Southwest. That expectation, however, had proved to be their fatal undoing. The Apache, Mojave, Pima, and other Arizona tribes were all as poor as church mice and not known to collect gold or silver.
“Marshal?”
“Yes?”
“Let’s go. Help me onto that travois and let’s get back to Wickenburg.”
That would suit Longarm just fine. He still had a job to do concerning Hank Bass and knew that his boss, Billy Vail, would be more than a little upset because of this latest long absence of communication. Longarm decided to telegraph Billy as soon as he reached Wickenburg, then get right after Hank Bass. With luck, he’d track the outlaw leader down in a week, two at the most, and then wrap this whole bloody business up tight.
“Here you go,” Longarm said, easing Dan onto the travois and then carefully tying him down with strips of leather.
“I don’t need to be tied down.”
“Sure you do,” Longarm argued. “We’re going over some real rough country. Country rough enough to bounce you off the travois. My eyes will be turned ahead, not behind watching out for you.”
“Are you suggesting that I could bounce off and you’d never know it?”
“That’s right. That could very easily happen and I’d be in such a hurry that I’d go miles before I discovered you were missing. That being the case, I doubt that I’d even bother to come back for you, Preacher.”
Dan didn’t fail to note the glint in Longarm’s eyes and he wasn’t a bit worried. “You just get in the saddle and head us for Wickenburg,” he said. “I’ll stay put on this thing.”
“Fair enough,” Longarm replied as he mounted the big sorrel and rode off, leading the two extra outlaw horses.
The sun was fading on the western horizon, and Longarm was full of admiration and even relief and gratitude. He was sorry that his old friend Jimmy Cox was dead, probably tortured mercilessly before his sad end. But Jimmy’s killers, with the sole exception of Hank Bass, had all paid the ultimate price with their own lives. Furthermore, all of the Spanish treasure would be used for charities. Longarm realized that, maybe except for a few coins, he’d give everything to Preacher Dan.
After all, he was a public servant. Underpaid, overworked but damned happy with his own humble role in life, unlike a lot of much wealthier men.
Chapter 15
The trip back to Wickenburg was slow but happily uneventful. Longarm tried to pick the easiest trails, but there were many times when he was forced to cross dry arroyos and other obstacles which gave the badly injured preacher a very difficult time. But the old codger never once complained, and although he was very weak, he was obviously on the mend by the time that they arrived in Wickenburg very late one warm evening.
“Don’t get the tooth puller!” Dan gritted. “Just get me to bed and maybe a little whiskey to thicken my blood.”
“Sure,” Longarm said with a wink, “but I never knew a drinking preacher before.”
“And you probably never knew one as shot up as me,” Dan grunted.
“That’s for certain. Here’s the Trevor House,” Longarm said, drawing his sorrel up to the closest hitching rail and then wearily climbing out of his saddle. “I’ll get us a couple of rooms, Dan.”
But Dan had fallen fast asleep. Longarm thought that was just fine. Sleep was an essential part of healing, so Longarm made sure that his old friend was comfortable and that the Spanish treasure box was still wrapped in canvas so that it would not attract any attention, then went inside the hotel.
There was no one behind the desk, so Longarm rang the bell loudly for several minutes until a sleepy-eyed clerk appeared. The clerk’s expression was sullen and uncooperative until he recognized Longarm, and even then he had a tough time mustering a smile.
“Welcome back to town, Marshal. You … you look like you’ve traveled a long hard trail.”
“I have,” Longarm said. “I need a room—no, two rooms. Make them adjoining.”
“You have a friend?” the clerk asked.
“Yes. Preacher Dan, who has been shot.”
“So have you,” the clerk said, coming awake fast. “What in the name of
…”
“The rooms,” Longarm interrupted shortly. “I’m in no mood for talk tonight.”
“Of course!”
Longarm got his two rooms and went outside, where he unlashed Dan from the travois and then carried him back into the hotel. Dan hardly weighed anything and it was easy enough to get him to bed. After that, Longarm hurried back outside and unlashed the Spanish treasure box. He was glad that he had wrapped it in canvas because his appearance had caused some excitement even at this late hour. A couple of men, watching with intense curiosity, even volunteered to help Longarm carry in his belongings.
“No thanks,” Longarm growled. “Why don’t you boys all go back to your business, whatever that might be at this late hour.”
“You find the Spanish treasure?”
“No,” Longarm lied.
“Who shot you and old Dan up so bad?” another asked.
“Someone who got a fatal case of the curiosities,” Longarm replied testily.
The man and his friends hastily retreated. Longarm hauled all of his valuables into the rooms and then went back out once more to water the horses and give them the last of the grain he had in his saddlebags.
“I’m sorry I can’t unsaddle you and put you in some pen to roll around in tonight,” he told the weary animals, “but I’ll make up for it tomorrow morning.”
Longarm made sure that each horse was taken care of and then, feeling his own exhaustion, he trudged back into the hotel, wanting nothing more than a hot bath, a bottle of whiskey, and then a long, restful sleep.
“Marshal?”
“Yeah?” he said, turning to the clerk.
“I suppose that it’s too much to hope that you will pay for your stay here with more Spanish gold coins.”
Longarm paused in the middle of the lobby. In truth, he wasn’t sure how he would pay for the rooms, but neither was he worried. It was something he could think about after a few days when his mind and body had rested.
“What about Mr. Potter?”
“The banker?”
“That’s right.”
“He died of his gunshot wounds.”
“Did they ever reopen his bank?”
“As a matter of fact, they did,” the clerk said.
This was good news. Maybe now Longarm could finally get his hands on the government travel money that Billy Vail had promised to wire.
“And what about the banker’s fiance, Miss Victoria Hathaway?”
“The one you rescued.”
“The same.”
“Well,” the clerk said, “after you left, she rested for a few days then traveled up to Prescott for her fiance’s funeral. She looked very weak and tired, but insisted that she be there when her fiance was put to his final rest.”