When Longarm stepped down from his horse, a young man in his teens appeared to open the gate to the pen. He nodded in silent greeting to Longarm, and held the gate open until all the mustangs were inside.
“I guess I might as well unsaddle our horses and turn them in with the others,” Longarm said as he dismounted.
“If I were you, mister,” the kid said softly, “I’d keep my saddle on and my cinch tight.”
Longarm knew at once that this was the youngest Killion, the kid named Randy who the marshal in Reno had said was a breed apart from his father and older brother.
“Why’s that?” Longarm asked.
“In case you or the Indian decide to leave real sudden,” Randy said quietly.
“And why would I want to do that?”
“You just might.”
“Hell, kid, I’m hear to stay for a while. Me and George are plumb worn down to nothing.” Longarm turned and surveyed the fire-ravaged and blackened town. “You must have had a hell of a fire here not so long ago.”
“Been a couple of years,” Randy said. “That was before my father took over Helldorado for good.”
“Helldorado,” Longarm repeated. “I like the sound of that. How’d it get its name?”
“There was once a lot of gold found right here, but even then, it was miserable as hell,” Randy said. “Now, if you’ve asked enough questions, I reckon you best get some eats and then play poker.”
Longarm ducked his head behind his horse and untied the cinch. He dragged the saddle off and tossed it up on the cedar-pole fence. He led his horse into the pen and turned it free with the mustangs as George brought over the first of many buckets of water that he would tote for the thirsty horses.
“Say,” Longarm said out loud enough for everyone to hear, “how come everyone here is so eager for me to play poker? You boys wouldn’t be thinking I’m going to play against a stacked deck, are you?”
Longarm asked the question with an easy, temper-diffusing grin that kept anyone from taking serious offense.
“Hell, no!” Clyde said. “If we wanted your money that bad, we’d just shoot you. Don’t need to go to all the bother of cheating to get your money.”
“Glad to hear that,” Longarm said, looking nervous.
“Come along,” Clyde ordered. “I want you to meet the man in charge.”
“Thought you might be in charge,” Longarm said.
“I will be some day,” Clyde said, puffing up like a pigeon. “But right now, this town belongs to my pa. He sets the rules and he decides who can come and who can go … on their feet or on a slab.”
“I see,” Longarm said. “And what is this gentleman’s name?”
“Matthew Killion. Mister Matthew Killion.”
“Yes, sir.”
They didn’t go far. Longarm was ushered into a hotel. He was escorted across a lobby that was nicely decorated, and saw several painted ladies keeping company with members of the gang.
“My father’s office is upstairs,” Clyde said, motioning Longarm to climb the stairs.
Longarm was in too deep to worry about getting shot in the back. He mounted the stairs and waited as Clyde moved ahead to knock on a door.
“Mister Killion?”
What kind of a son called his own father “mister,” Longarm wondered.
“What is it!”
“We got a stranger that wants to sell us some mustangs.”
“We don’t need any!”
“He’s got some money to spend.”
A long pause. Then: “Send him in.”
“He’ll see you now,” Clyde said, batting off Longarm’s hat and pushing open the door.
Longarm wasn’t prepared for either the man, his mistress, or the plush surroundings that Killion enjoyed. The room was big, maybe three hundred square feet, and it was decorated with beautiful dark wood that was polished to a shine. The furniture was heavy, and it looked to be imported from Europe. There was a long bar at one end of the room, stocked with expensive liquor. Across the other wall was an enormous couch, red and velvet, which a stunning young woman decorated with her scantily clad body. She wore a half smile and had bold, black eyes. Longarm thought her French, or maybe black Irish.
Matthew Killion was seated behind a huge oak desk. He was a very big man who had a wide rack of shoulders and hair that was starting to turn salt-and-pepper. He had the same lantern jaw that he’d passed on to both sons, and his eyes were penetrating as they sized up Longarm.
“Who are you?”
“Name is Custis,” Longarm said, wringing his hat in his hand. “I been mustanging with a Paiute Indian and heard that your men needed horses.”
“His horses are worthless,” Clyde told his father. “Only an Indian would be seen on one of ‘em.”
Matthew nodded ever so slightly. He returned his eyes to Longarm and said, “My son says that we can’t do business, Custis. However, I understand that you do have funds.”
“Funds?”
Killion’s voice took on an impatient edge. “Money.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Killion, but like I told your son, we came to make money selling you horses, not to lose what little we have at your poker table.”
“Sometimes a man finds that he has to change his plans. Take out your money and put it on my desk.”
Longarm’s jaw dropped. “Sir?”
“I said, put your money on my desk.”
When Longarm hesitated for just a fraction of a second, Clyde’s gun jumped into his hand and its barrel jabbed hard into Longarm’s spine. “You heard Mr. Killion! Empty your damned pockets!”
Longarm did. He had not actually been aware of how much money he had, but Clyde counted out seventy-three dollars and then said to his father, “He’s also got horses and saddles. What do you want us to do with him and the Paiute? Kill ‘em?”
“Oh, now wait a minute!” Longarm choked. “We came here to do an honest business. We didn’t do anything wrong. Now why would you want to go and kill us?”
For a heart-stopping moment Killion seemed to consider the question, and then he smiled. “We don’t want to kill you, Custis. But everything is expensive out here, so we’ll hold onto your money against the expenses and any gambling debts that you might run up in Helldorado. Before you leave tomorrow, we’ll fairly settle the account. You have my assurance about that.”
Longarm swallowed. “I guess that would be fair,” he managed to say. “Yes, sir. That would be fair.”
“Good,” Killion said, turning his eyes toward the stunning blonde who was draped across his couch and pretending to be too bored to listen to their conversation. “Now, you can go down and enjoy yourself, Custis, while I enjoy myself.”
“Yes, sir!” Longarm dared to shoot a quick glance at the young woman. She was enough to make a man’s heart skip a beat. Her legs were long and shapely and shaded by black silk stockings. Her bosom was about to burst from her bodice, and her lips were cherry red. She was far, far more desirable than most of the girls on the frontier. Prettier than Irma, and arguably the equal of Lady Caroline. But just looking at her, Longarm could tell that she was as cold and dispassionate as a cat. He had the feeling that, if Clyde had shot him in the gut and he’d fallen to writhe out his final moments in screaming agony, this girl would have yawned.
“I said you could go,” Killion said with a hard edge in his voice.
“Yes, sir!” Longarm pivoted on his heels and marched back outside. Clyde followed, and closed the door behind him.
“Custis?”
Longarm turned to confront the older Killion son. “Yeah?”
Clyde’s hand streaked out and the back of it slammed into the side of Longarm’s face so hard he staggered. He started to ball his fists, but checked that impulse just in time. “What the hell did you do that for?”
“For staring at Desiree. You’re lucky my father didn’t have you castrated.”
Longarm wiped blood from his lips with the back of his sleeve. “Hell, man, I just looked at her!”