Longarm smiled back just as politely—and every bit as insincerely—and dragged out his wallet to show the badge.
“Deputy United States … um, you say you are looking for our Chief Bolt, Marshal?”
“Official business,” Longarm said. “But don’t get your bowels in no uproar. It ain’t anything to do with the company. Has to do with a federal matter outa Wyoming that Chief Bolt may be able to help us with.” Well, that was more or less true so far as it went. The GWC&C clerk wasn’t entitled to all the details, not the way Longarm saw it.
“Chief Bolt is away for the rest of the day, Marshal. He mentioned earlier that he was going down to Ludlow to see Chief Wilcox about something—I have no idea what—and I believe the two of them planned to go on down to Trinidad for the evening. I suggest you look for him in the morning. Unless your business is urgent, of course. In that case you might think about going back out to the main line and flagging the nine o’clock southbound.”
Longarm grunted and thanked the man. He didn’t reckon there was any need to chase Bolt all the way down to Trinidad, though—where, dammit, he’d just been a few hours earlier—because if Longarm couldn’t find Harry here, then neither could young Steve Reese. Morning should be quite good enough.
Longarm muttered a perfunctory goodbye and went back to where Rick was waiting to take him to the shack where the boy named Buddy had said he could take lodging for the night.
Chapter 13
Buddy’s mother turned out to be a thin, rather plain woman of thirty or so. When Longarm got there she was cooking supper, which turned out to be a rice concoction laced heavily with chunks of onion and squash and containing a few pale shreds of something that might have been chicken. Or maybe something else that Longarm would just as soon not identify anyway. But at least the meal was cheap. It was also, he would soon discover, tastier than he’d expected. The woman knew how to use spices to perk up an otherwise bland and dreary diet.
Her name was Angela. She wiped her hands carefully on her apron before she offered her hand to Longarm in greeting. “Eric has been telling me about you, Mr. Long.”
“Eric,” Longarm repeated. “I take it that’d be the young fella there?” He hooked a thumb in Buddy’s direction and gave the kid a grin.
Angela Fulton smiled. “I’m his mother. I can get away with calling him by his real name. But I suspect if you try it, Mr. Long, you’re apt to get a kick in the shins for your trouble.”
“Then I reckon I’d best leave off, hadn’t I.”
“Let me take your hat, Mr. Long. And sit, please. At the table would be fine. You, uh … Eric tells me that you would be willing to pay for lodging?”
“That’s right, ma’am.”
“Would fifty cents be too much?”
“Oh, I dunno, ma’am. I was thinking it oughta be more like a dollar.”
“I’m a poor negotiator, Mr. Long, so I suppose I shall just have to give in and accept your terms.”
“I’m right glad you’re so easy to get along with, Mrs. Fulton.”
“Eric, have you washed your hands ready for supper?”
“No, Ma.”
“Then take Mr. Long with you and show him where the basin is. And mind you let him use the towel first. Lord only knows what manner of things you’ll leave behind even if you do remember to use the soap this time.”
Buddy grinned and motioned for Longarm to follow him outside.
Longarm washed first, then the kid, Buddy talking nonstop the whole while. When they were done Longarm emptied the basin and refilled the water pail from a rain barrel at the corner of the shanty. The water level was getting low and pretty soon someone—Buddy came to mind—was going to have to fill it again, presumably with creek water since this was not the rainy season and there didn’t appear to be a well close by.
“Does your mmama mind a gentleman smoking indoors?” Longarm asked, thinking ahead to after dinner.
“No. My pa used to smoke. I think. Anyhow you can go ahead. She won’t mind.”
“Thanks.” That was the first anyone had mentioned the missing Mr. Fulton. Longarm wondered what had become of him, but didn’t want to come right out and ask in case the answer would bring back hurtful memories for Buddy and his mother.
Supper did prove to be both tasty and filling, and Longarm had no complaint about the quality of the board to be gained for his dollar. Or more accurately, for the government’s dollar, as he would put this down on a voucher for Billy Vail’s clerk Henry to quibble and quarrel over but eventually pay.
When, after the meal, he reached inside his coat for a cheroot, Mrs. Fulton brought him an ashtray and a candle to light his cigar from. He crossed his legs and settled back in some contentment.
“Eric James, you can do the washing up this evening, and if Mr. Long wants more coffee you can pour it for him. I have to go out for a little while.”
The boy’s face fell. Longarm assumed Buddy was embarrassed about having to do the dishes with a stranger looking on. Instead, though, he said, “Can’t you stay home tonight, Ma? Please?”
“Hush, Eric. You know I have to work.”
“But Ma …”
“Hush, I said.” She looked at Longarm and explained, “I have an evening job at the laundry and dry cleaning up in Cargyle. Eric always resents being alone at night for some reason.”
Longarm knew what that reason was, of course, but he wasn’t fixing to mention it. He had to wonder, though, about the rumor that boy Rick was spreading. Something like that could sure as hell hurt a lady’s reputation for it always seems to be the ugliest rumors that spread the quickest and take the deepest roots.
Angela Fulton gathered up a light shawl to put over her shoulders against the chill of the evening, then said her goodbyes. Longarm stood to watch her out of the house, then sat back down again to finish his cheroot while Buddy turned to the chore of cleaning up the dishes and wiping down the table. To his credit the kid didn’t skimp on the job and didn’t try to put it off either. Nor, Longarm noticed, did he resume the lighthearted talkativeness that he’d been given to earlier. Back, Longarm realized, when he’d thought the income from this overnight guest would keep his ma from having to go out and work tonight.
Once his smoke was done Longarm stretched and contemplated the remainder of an evening that was still very young. The sun was barely down, and all he had to look forward to now was the dubious comfort to be found on the stretched canvas cot where Buddy normally slept.
“I tell you what, son.”
“Yes, sir?”
“You don’t need me around here, and I’m sure not sleepy enough yet to be wanting to go to bed. I think I’ll wander down the way an’ see can I find a card game to sit in on.”
“Oh, I don’t think there’s any gambling allowed around here, mister. I’m pretty sure it’s again’ the law.”
“If I can’t find a game then, Buddy, I’ll settle for a drink and a little conversation. You aren’t scared of being alone here, are you?”
“No, sir.”
“All right then. You tend to things here. And don’t worry. I won’t be out late, and when I come in I’ll be real quiet in case you’re asleep.”
“I won’t be asleep, mister.” The boy looked upset, although Longarm didn’t know what he had to be concerned with.
Longarm retrieved his hat from the wall hook where Mrs. Fulton had left it. With a wink and a cheerful word to Buddy, Longarm went out into the cool night air that swept down through the Cargyle canyon to spill out onto the grassy flats that began here at the canyon mouth.