A short, balding, friendly-looking fellow wearing a suit and clerical collar, a little detail Longarm hadn’t noticed before, laughed in response. “In that case, sir, you most certainly accomplished your purpose. Allow me to introduce myself. I am the Reverend Ames MacNall. And you, of course, would be the legendary deputy marshal known as the Long Arm of the law.”
“Just Longarm will do, Reverend.”
“Just Ames will do, Longarm.”
“Fair enough, sir.” Longarm offered his hand, and the ruddy little preacher, who also happened to be the resident agent in charge of the Upper Belle Fourche Intertribal Agency, took and shook it.
MacNall introduced the other men still present. They were Charles Prandel, who was MacNall’s assistant, Booth Watkins, agency procurement officer, and Cale Rogers, a teamster not attached to the agency.
“Are you all right now, Longarm?” MacNall inquired.
“I hurt like hell but I don’t think anything’s busted. Just lost my wind when I hit the ground. How ‘bout you, Tall Man?”
“I am well. Thanks to you.”
“Yeah, well, you’re lucky I didn’t have time to think about that bet.”
“Tall Man tells me you were engaged in a horse race?” MacNall asked. His tone of voice suggested he thought surely Tall Man was lying about such a thing. Surely no grown man would engage in anything so frivolous.
“That’s right. Seemed a good idea at the time.”
“Are you feeling well enough to ride?” Captain Wingate asked.
“Hell, I dunno. Haven’t thought about it yet. Why?”
“It is getting late. And, um, Mr. Rogers tells me someone hired a wagon at Deadwood to carry passengers to Camp Beloit. I want to return to my command. There may be dispatches waiting there for me.”
Longarm felt of his ribs, then rubbed at his chin for a moment. “Colonel, I hurt from the ground up, an’ I don’t much feel like riding all the way back to Beloit. How’s about I keep the borrow of that horse until tomorrow. I can find my way back when I need to.”
“But where will you stay? Your equipment is all in a tent at the post.”
“I’ll bunk in with Tall Man an’ his family.” Longarm winked at his friend. “He owes me, you know. I intend to collect.”
“You are perfectly welcome to stay here at the agency headquarters if you prefer,” MacNall put in. “We have a room reserved for visitors. It isn’t much, but it might be more agreeable than, um …” The reverend glanced toward Tall Man, obviously not wanting to put it into words, but probably convinced that no white man could remain alive and healthy after an overnight stay with savages.
“I’ll be fine. Really. An’ like I said. Tall Man owes me. I figure to let him wait on me hand an’ foot this whole night long.”
“Owe you? Do you forget already who it is that owes who? My cigars, brother. You lost the race so it is you that has the debt. Pay me.”
“Or?”
Tall Man laughed. “Or it will be Burned Pot who cooks for you this night and not Yellow Flowers.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Why do you think she was given such a name?”
Longarm chuckled and handed over the cheroots he owed Tall Man, reserving a couple for himself, however. “Tall Man, old friend, I want to talk to Reverend MacNall for a while. What say I join you at your lodge before time for supper.”
“As you wish, Longarm.” Tall Man left, and soon Captain Wingate did also.
“Did you want to speak with me in private?” MacNall asked.
“If it wouldn’t be an imposition, yes, sir.”
MacNall nodded a dismissal to his employees, and the teamster wandered off with them. “This way, sir. We may as well be comfortable while we talk.”
Chapter 16
Comfortable for the reverend was mighty comfortable indeed, at least in Longarm’s uninformed opinion. After all, what did he know about how the clergy were supposed to take their sacramental wine?
The Reverend Ames MacNall took his in the form of aged brandy, superb cigars, and service provided by a most comely little Piegan girl.
Not that there was anything wrong with any of that, Longarm conceded. As far as Longarm knew there wasn’t a damn thing wrong with strong spirits taken in moderation, nor with a taste for quality in the innocent things that can give a man pleasure. As for the pretty girl, well, there seemed no reason why a man should have to hire an ugly female if he happened to need help around the place anyhow, not when a pretty one would do the same job just as well.
“Is there anything else I can do for you, Marshal?” MacNall asked.
“Reverend, I’m just about as content as a man can get right now. Well … pretty near to it, anyway.”
MacNall smiled and nodded and, after glancing in the direction of the young Piegan servant, winked. “I believe I know what you mean, sir.”
Which more or less proved, Longarm supposed, that preachers can be damn near human sometimes. “There is something I’d like to ask.”
“Anything,” the Indian agent said. “That is what we are here for, are we not?”
“Yes, sir. The thing is, I been noticing the way you talk and …”
“The accent? Ohio. I am from Ohio, Marshal.”
“No, sir, that isn’t it. It’s that you aren’t one to say thee an’ thou an’ all that stuff.”
“Ah, you mean you thought I was a member of the Society of Friends? A Quaker, that is?”
“Well I just kinda, you know, assumed …
MacNall smiled. “Not all Bureau of Indian Affairs appointees are Quakers, Marshal. I, for instance, am ordained in the Fellowship of the Redeemer.”
“I see.”
“It is a small denomination. Very fundamental. Would you like instruction in our views, Marshal?”
“Uh, thanks, Reverend, but, um, I think I’d settle for a refill o’ this liquor.”
MacNall laughed and motioned to the girl, who quickly brought the crystal decanter and filled both gentlemen’s glasses.
“Thank you, my dear,” MacNall said in a fatherly tone of voice. The girl mumbled something and backed away to what seemed to be her post, off in a corner of the room. A room which Longarm found to be quite a contrast with the rough quarters at Camp Beloit. He asked about the difference between the two locations.
“Yes, of course. But then you see, the military encampment is only now being established. To keep order on the agency reservation and, if necessary, to preserve the peace internally or impose punishments in the event of a general uprising. As for this headquarters, the Department of the Interior acquired the site intact, very much as you see it now. It originally was what you Westerners call a ranch. Only one. Perhaps you can imagine so vast a tract of land falling under the control of one individual. I cannot. But then, of course, I am accustomed to Eastern ways, while you may be more familiar with the way things are done here in the frontier territories.”
“Yes, sir.” Longarm helped himself to another swallow of the brandy and to a pull on the cigar. One was as fine as the other.
“I do not have details of the purchase. Is that important to your investigation?”
“No, sir, I’m sure it isn’t. I was just curious. Somethin’ that is important, though, is how you read the situation between these two tribes. Would you mind filling me in?”
“Glad to.” MacNall’s story was largely a repeat of what Tall Man had already explained. The Piegan shaman John Jumps-the-Creek had been murdered by a person or persons as yet unknown. The Piegan were convinced that the Crow killed John Jumper as an act of deliberate, and malicious, provocation. Neither side wanted the government involved in investigating the death, but if there had to be interference from outside, then both agreed they wanted a man known to be friendly to them—Longarm—to handle it.
“Doesn’t it seem dumb right on the surface of things for the Crow to start something when they’re outnumbered three or four to one?” Longarm asked.