Longarm took off his hat and settled down. He said, “See any sign of the train?”
The telegrapher looked down the track. He said, “I can barely make out a light flashing. That’ll be it, and right on time, too.”
It was not a long wait. After a few minutes, Longarm felt the floor begin to tremble beneath him. A moment or two later it seemed, the train came smoking an clanging and huffing and puffing and thundering and squealing into the station. He heard it sigh to a stop as it expelled steam from its boiler.
The telegrapher said, “The passengers are starting to get out of two cars, one right beside you and one down the track. A lady got off … that ain’t him. Another lady got off … that ain’t him. Well, there’s a man got off one car down the track. He’s done got off and looking back up. Another man’s got off. Here comes a man down … got chains on his wrists or handcuffs or whatever you call them.”
Longarm tried to keep the excitement out of his voice. “That would be them.”
“Yep. And there’s good old Judge Richard Harding, the last one out. He’s carrying a valise. The others, well, two of them have saddlebags and the one with the manacles, he ain’t carrying nothing.”
Longarm asked, “Well, what are they doing now?”
The telegrapher watched for a moment. “They’re a-talkin’.” He paused for a moment. “Now they’re looking around. One of them that ain’t the judge and ain’t the one in the handcuffs is walking down this way and having a look. He’s done gone by. I can’t see him no more. The other one that ain’t the judge and ain’t the one in handcuffs is looking off the other end of the passenger platform. Now he’s coming back. Now here comes the other one back. Now they’re all talking and they’re all walking toward the edge of the platform toward the steps on the town side.”
“Have they stepped down yet?” asked Longarm.
“No. Well, one of them has. He’s going down the steps and now he’s starting down the road,” said the telegrapher. “The other three are just standing there. Now he’s out of my sight and they’re watching him.”
“What about Harding? Was it Harding?”
“Nope. It was one of them that … well, let’s just call him one of them that has a gun on. The other one with the gun and the one with the handcuffs is there and Judge Harding is there and they are just standing there, waiting.”
“Where do you suppose that other one is going?”
The old man said, “Well, I don’t know about you, Marshal, but if I had just come in on the train and no one had met me, I’d be going to the livery stables to get a buggy or a buckboard or some horses.”
Longarm chuckled slightly. “We could use a man like you. I like the way you think.”
The telegrapher said dryly, “You didn’t like it so well the other night when you were showing me that big pistol for a badge.”
“Someday I will tell you what kind of mood and shape I was in. Maybe then you’ll understand.”
“Oh, it didn’t bother me none. I got to tell everybody that I’d had a gun drawn on me by the famous Longarm and made him put it away.”
Longarm chuckled again. “That you did. Keep watching.”
It was a long wait in terms of anticipation. In minutes, it was only about ten. The telegrapher said, “Yep. That was it. The one that walked off is pulling up with a buckboard. He’s driving a two-horse team. Now the other three are going down the steps. The judge is getting in the front seat with the driver and the other two are getting in the back. The other gunman is shoving the one that’s manacled up into the back. By the way, I didn’t tell you that the one that has the manacles on has something tied across his mouth. Looks like a handkerchief. It appears they gagged the man.”
Longarm said grimly, “I don’t blame them.”
“They’re treating him pretty rough, but they’re allowing him to sit up now. He made a motion right then to try and get over the side of the buckboard, but that wasn’t very smart because that gunman drug him back right smart.”
“What are they doing now?”
“The driver is starting the horses. Now he’s wheeling them around. They are going to head south. In about thirty seconds they’re going to be out of my view.”
Longarm got to his feet. “I am much obliged to you, sir. I’ll see you when I get back. Maybe we’ll have a drink and talk about it.”
The telegrapher said, “If you’re going to follow them folks, you had better get high behind because they are a-movin’. They’ve already gone out of my sight.”
Longarm rushed out of the office and hurried around the building on the track side back toward the freight platform. When he got to the end, he peered around just in time to see the wagon heading south on the town’s main street. A building blocked his view so he had to cross the platform to the street side to where he could see. He saw the wagon continue on south and his heart sank. They were headed for the bridge just as sure as shooting. They were going to the hacienda. Damn, he thought. Harding would get there, see the dead bodies, know that Longarm had escaped, and he would be hell to catch after that. It would flush him, sure enough.
Longarm hurried down the steps, caught up his horse, and walked out into the street. He could just barely make out the buggy; it was some five or six blocks ahead of him. He mounted as quick as he could and struck a fast walk, hoping to keep up with the buggy but not get too close. It was continuing on south toward the bridge. He followed for two, three, and then four blocks, watching the buggy. It had already passed through the central part of town and was only a quarter mile from the bridge. He was certain that it would be going across.
But then, to his amazement, the buggy suddenly turned to the right, toward the west. He wasn’t sure what that meant. He could only hope that Harding and his party were headed for some country road that ran down along the river in the direction where Sarah had said the hunting lodge might be found.
Even though it was well past eight o’clock, the streets were still crowded and many stores were open. Fortunately, most of the people were up on the sidewalk and he was able to kick his horse into a lope, only now and then having to dodge a wagon or someone who had suddenly decided to dart across his path. He got to the corner where the buggy had turned and slowed his horse to a walk as he cautiously went around. It was dark for the space of a couple of blocks from the overhang of buildings. Then, he got a glimpse of the buckboard moving along at a good clip, having cleared the outskirts of town. He urged his pony forward to keep within good sight of them.
Once away from the town, the country was rolling plains covered with mesquite and cedar thickets and now and again a post oak tree. The bare spaces were taken up by greasewood bushes and cactus brambles. Longarm could clearly see the white caliche road sneaking its way through the darker heavy overgrowth. The buckboard was about a half mile ahead. He came into the moonlight cautiously, aiming to make sure they didn’t see him following behind them. For a short while, he tried to follow off the road, picking his way through the dense growth of stunted trees and plentiful bushes and briars. The going was too slow, and besides, it was scratching his horse across the legs and the chest plate. If he kept it up, the animal would get shy and go to bucking or pitching. He swung back into the road but took his time, going slow, catching occasional glimpses of the buggy ahead as the road wound to the left and now back to the right. If Sarah was right that it was a ten-or fifteen-mile trip then he had plenty of time to follow them. The only thing he worried about was the road forking.
He followed slowly for about an hour, catching glimpses of the buggy only now and then as it continued its westward progress. He calculated they had come at least seven or eight miles from town. The buggy was still moving at a smart trot. Longarm let his horse out a little into a fast walk. He didn’t want them to get too far ahead nor did he want them to arrive at the hunting lodge too far in advance of him. Could be they’d get their business done quickly and he’d meet them coming back. He was very anxious to hear what went on in the hunting cabin.