Tall Man was already back onto dry ground by the time Longarm and the chestnut plunged into the water. Longarm could feel the coolness in the air where the pinto had sprayed water before him, and the splashing of his chestnut soaked him past his knees.
He kept hoping the damn pinto would take a tumble. If the horse broke a leg, Longarm thought, it might yet come to a fair contest.
Not this time. The pinto disappeared over the rise and Tall Man with it.
Damned arrogant Indian wasn’t even bothering to lean low over the pinto’s withers at this point, Longarm noticed. Tall Man was riding bolt upright, turning back every few rods to taunt Longarm with laughs and short, choppy war whoops.
Helluva way to lose a handful of good smokes, Longarm thought.
But he was smiling. He’d been had fair and square, hadn’t he? And he would happily have given Tall Man the cigars anyway.
Besides, this would give the two of them something to talk about for years to come. Not the race, dammit, but the way Tall Man got Longarm to cheat himself in the bet. Oh, that was something Tall Man would tell around the fires time and time again when the menfolk gathered to smoke and visit and swap lies late into the night. No question about it. Longarm would be the butt of many and many a Crow yarn from now on.
Longarm and his chestnut, the game and plodding little son of a bitch, scrambled over the crest of the rise and pounded down the other side.
Tall Man was still out front. Way the hell out front at this point. Shrieking and whooping and yelling for all he was worth.
Down below, maybe a hundred fifty yards distant, Longarm could see a collection of log and sod buildings, in the middle of which was planted a tall lodgepole with a U.S. flag attached to its peak.
There were some people wandering around among the buildings, most of them staring now at the sight of Tall Man and a white civilian charging straight toward them.
The people were … oh, Jesus! Longarm moaned.
The men down there were pointing. Shouting. Some scattered and ran for cover. Others dashed onto the porch of the biggest building, grabbing up some objects there and running back out into the yard to form a short line.
“No! No, goddammit!” Longarm shouted.
The men at the agency were forming into a firing line, Longarm saw. It was rifles they’d grabbed off the porch. Big old Springfields they looked like.
They must believe they were being attacked. Or that Longarm was chasing Tall Man. Or some stupid thing like …
“No, don’t.”
Tall Man looked back at Longarm’s shouting, dammit, and did not see the danger ahead.
“Stop. Tall Man, stop!”
For a moment Tall Man looked puzzled. And then he laughed again and shook his head.
Jeez, Longarm thought. Tall Man thought Longarm was trying to trick him into losing the race. The stupid fucking race.
“No!” Tall Man’s head swiveled to the front again. And he saw. He was within fifty, sixty yards of the line of men. Half a dozen muskets were bearing on him. Tall Man saw. Faltered. He yanked on the rein of the pinto and clamped his legs tight on its barrel, and the horse went into a butt-down slide in instant obedience to the command.
“Ready,” Longarm heard from ahead. “Aim.”
The pinto was sliding to a stop and Longarm’s chestnut continued its headlong plunge down the slope.
Longarm jerked his rein to send the chestnut square into the line of fire.
As the chestnut thundered up behind the pinto Longarm dimly heard the command, “Fire!”
Longarm launched himself off the chestnut, slamming into Tall Man’s back and sending them both tumbling while the air around them filled with the nasty, whip-crack sizzle of heavy musket balls slicing past.
Longarm felt a jarring, numbing impact on his right side. His vision clouded. But only for a moment. There was that moment of darkness. And then there was nothing at all.
Chapter 15
“He’s breathing.” The words came from far away. Longarm wasn’t really paying very much attention. It was just fine being where he was right now and doing what he was doing. Whatever that was. It was comfortable enough anyway. He felt like he was stretched out in a tub, or maybe it was a pool of lukewarm water, and that he was floating there. It was almost like floating on air except, of course, that was not possible, so he had to assume he was floating in water and just couldn’t feel it because it was body-warm.
“I thought he was dead for sure.”
“Just knocked out, I think.”
“Anything broken?”
“Don’t know.” Longarm felt hands probing his ribs and chest and down around his back. One of the touching hands found a sore spot, and Longarm winced.
“He’s coming around.”
“I sure did think he was dead.”
“Not yet.” The hands poked and prodded and moved around on his torso. “If there’s anything broken I can’t find it this easily. We’ll know for sure when he wakes up.”
“What if he doesn’t wake up?”
“Then he’ll be dead, dammit, and we’ll know something busted.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
Longarm’s eyelids fluttered, and after another few moments opened.
He did not want to wake up. Not really. It had been nice and comfortable where he was before. Waking up hurt like hell.
“Colonel,” he said, nodding.
Wingate was kneeling close by, a worried look pinching his mouth into a knot and putting deep furrows in his forehead.
Cloud Talker was standing several paces behind the infantry officer. There were some armed Piegan close around Cloud Talker, each of them carrying an ancient Springfield rifle with the post-war conversion to turn what originally was a muzzle-loading musket into an almost-as-useless .50-70-caliber breechloader.
There were also several white civilians Longarm had never seen before. Two of these were bent over Longarm and seemed to have been the ones conducting the examination.
Longarm’s mouth was dry and he wanted a smoke. And a drink. And … A cold shiver ran up his spine as he remembered what had happened.
“Tall Man,” he said. “Where’s Tall Man.”
“I am here.” Tall Man had been standing near Longarm’s head, out of his line of sight. Now the Crow came around beside Longarm’s waist. “You saved my life, my brother.”
“Question is,” Longarm said, “was it worth it. I’d’ve won our bet sure if I’d let these fellas shoot you outa the saddle.”
Tall Man grinned. “You are not injured. I am sure of that now.”
“Maybe. Might be I’ll need some more o’ Yellow Flowers’ cooking to get me feelin’ better.”
“Then you shall have it,” Tall Man promised.
“Cloud Talker,” Longarm asked, “why’d your warriors try an’ kill me just now?”
Cloud Talker scowled. “They try to shoot Tall Man. Not you, Long Arm.”
“All right, dammit, why’d they go an’ try to shoot Tall Man then?”
“These are agency police, Long Arm. Always try to stop trouble. They see Tall Man coming. Hear his war cries. See you chase him behind.” Cloud Talker shrugged. “They grab their guns and try to help.”
“Big help,” Longarm groaned.
Cloud Talker’s gaze shifted from Longarm to Tall Man. “If you do not spoil the shooting, no more trouble, eh?” Without another word he spun on his heels and stalked off, the squad of tribal police trailing in his wake.
“Nice fellas,” Longarm muttered, then held a hand up so Tall Man could grab hold and help pull him to his feet.
Longarm looked at the white men who had been trying, however ineffectively, to doctor him. “My name’s Long.” He smiled. “I always try an’ make an impressive entrance when I’m gonna meet somebody new.”