Chapter 5
“All I really know is that my father-in-law asked me to cooperate with Sergeant Vail. Excuse me, I believe you said that should be Marshal Vail now.”
“That’s right. But who’s your father-in-law?”
“His name is Ed Barnes. My wife is his second daughter Leonore. Mr. Barnes’s older brother Maynard used to be in the same Ranger company as the ser—as your marshal.”
“An’ he asked your daddy-in-law t’ ask you t’ go along with whatever Billy wanted,” Longarm said.
“Something like that, yes. Which I was perfectly happy to do when I was informed that the marshal would supply me with an accomplished pitcher to join the team.”
“Yeah, well, I think I explained that,” Longarm said sheepishly.
McWhortle laughed. “So you did, deputy. So you did.”
“Look, d’you know anything at all about the robberies that’ve been following along with your team?”
“To tell you the truth, I didn’t even know they were happening. As I explained to you before, it’s our habit to take our share of the gate and be on the first transportation out of town, preferably as soon as the game ends and certainly before the sun goes down. I had no idea any such robberies took place, although I looked up some old newspapers once I was told about the crimes. Your marshal is absolutely right. There have been at least four such thefts and possibly more. All of them taking place while our games were in progress. Which makes very good sense when you think about it. Our tour is taking us to communities that lack the entertainments available in major cities. People from miles around come to watch us play. Frankly, we count on that. We make our money by taking sixty percent of the gate receipts. The home team pays expenses, if any, and keeps whatever is left. We’ve found our games so popular in these small towns that virtually everyone who can come does. Stores and businesses close down and usually one or more churches set up food stalls to sell sandwiches and candy and lemonade and the like. We don’t ask for any percentage of the charity take, of course.” McWhortle sighed. “I hate to think we are being used to the detriment of others.”
“Any ideas on who could be doin’ this? Or why?”
“‘Why’ seems easy enough. For the money, of course.”
“I meant, why you an’ your boys in particular,” Longarm said.
“I’m afraid I have no opinion about that.”
“Was the tour laid out beforehand?”
“Oh my yes. We had to plan everything ahead of time so we could make arrangements for the transportation, rooms, meals. We even had to plan our laundry layovers and like that.”
“An’ was all this announced? To the public, I mean?”
McWhortle frowned in thought for a moment before he answered. “There was … I think there was an article about our tour. In one of the Austin newspapers. And I suppose that story could have been picked up and reprinted in other papers as well. That’s common enough practice, isn’t it?”
Longarm grunted. And wondered if there was any way the Austin paper would even know if its story was reprinted elsewhere. That was something he should ask. Get a wire off to Billy Vail’s secretary Henry, perhaps. Henry was a whiz at finding out nit-picking details like that. “So pretty much anybody could know where you’ll be on a given day?”
“More or less,” McWhortle said. “We’ve had to make some minor adjustments along the way, of course.”
“Any o’ those changes take place before these robberies occurred?” Longarm asked.
“I can’t say right off the top of my head,” McWhortle told him. “I suppose I could compare our current itinerary with the original and check them both against the dates of the robberies if you can give those to me,” he suggested.
In point of fact, Longarm did not happen to have the specifics of the robberies. The information he’d received back in Denver had been incomplete. And Longarm hadn’t thought to write down what little he was told. Billy expected McWhortle to have more firsthand knowledge than was the fact. At least that was certainly the impression Longarm got at the time. It looked like the telegraphic inquiry to Henry would have to grow somewhat longer.
“What about Billy’s plan for me t’ join the team? His idea was that it could be useful t’ have somebody traveling on the inside o’ things, so to speak,” Longarm said. And added, “But not as a pitcher, o’ course.”
“I already told the boys we were expecting a new pitching prospect,” McWhortle said. “Let me think.” He smiled. “I believe we can make it work anyway.”
Longarm raised an eyebrow.
“You are still an ace pitcher from Denver,” the ball club manager said, “but you hurt your shoulder. You can’t pitch until it heals, but in the meantime you can stick with the team and travel along with us. In fact, we’ll play you a little. Can you catch a ball?”
“You don’t mean like one o’ those fellas that crouches down behind the batter and gets his face mashed in a couple times every game? I don’t wanta sound like a sissy-boy, McWhortle, but those guys must be as dumb as they are tough. And I ain’t yet seen one of them with all his teeth still in his head. If that’s what you got in mind for me then thanks but no thanks.”
The young man chuckled. “That isn’t the kind of catching I had in mind. What I meant was, if there’s a ball falling out of the air can you run under it and catch it before it hits the ground.” Longarm shrugged. “Sounds easy enough, don’t it.”
“Oh yes,” McWhortle agreed with a perfectly straight face. “Nothing to it at all.”
“Yeah, I expect I can do that.”
“Then while we wait for your shoulder to heal, Mr. Colorado Pitcher, we’ll play you as a relief outfielder. A right fielder.”
“Why that spot in particular?” Longarm asked.
“Because about the only balls ever hit into right field are struck by left-handed batters. And there are damn few of those on these small-time local clubs. It would be different against other professional clubs, of course. They make it a point to have left-handed batters so as to increase the odds of getting hits successfully. But on small amateur clubs,” he shrugged, “a right fielder in games like these can go a week or more without ever having to actually catch a ball.”
“That sounds pretty good t’ me,” Longarm admitted.
“How about your batting?”
Longarm grinned. “I dunno if I can hit a ball with one of your sticks, but if you throw the little sonuvabitch up in the air I can shoot it at least once before it hits the ground, maybe a couple times.”
“Good of you to offer,” McWhortle said in a dry tone, “but I’ll have to check the rule book before I let you do that.”
“Yeah, let me know what you find out.”
“In the meantime we’ll stick with the old-fashioned methods.”
“Did you happen t’ tell your fellows the name of this player you was expecting from Denver?” Longarm asked.
“Why?”
“I don’t mean t’ sound immodest, but if this bunch o’ thieves are professionals, which it looks like they might be t’ have things worked out so far ahead o’ time, then there’s a good chance they will’ve heard of a federal deputy named Long.”
“I see. If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t know your name to tell to anyone. All Mr. Barnes said to me was that I could expect someone. He never said who.”
Longarm had the fleeting thought that maybe that damned Billy Vail had snookered him. Maybe the boss would have caved in had Longarm absolutely demanded the Leadville assignment. Maybe, dammit, Maeternick would have been saddled with this deal after all if Longarm had simply dug his heels in hard enough. Maybe that was why no name had been transmitted ahead of time.
Not that there was any point in thinking about that now. Dammit.
And not that Longarm could help but think about it at least a little bit. Dammit.