As he sprawled out on the bed wearing only the bottom half of a pair of summer-weight long underwear and puffing on a cheroot, he thought about everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours. It had been an eventful period, packed with violence and death. There were moments when Longarm thought he was getting too old and too tired for this sort of life. This was one of those times.
But he sure couldn’t go back to cowboying, and he hadn’t done much else with his life since drifting out to the frontier from West-by-God Virginia after the Late Unpleasantness had come to a close at Appomattox Courthouse. Packing a badge was all he knew, and he figured he’d keep at it until his luck finally ran out and he died in some dark back alley or dingy hotel room or smoky saloon.
With his mind drifting like that, something tried to prod its way forward in his brain and call attention to itself. He frowned and reached out mentally to grasp it, but it abruptly slid away from him, and no matter what he did, he couldn’t quite manage to recall it. Finally, he shook his head in frustration, butted out the cheroot, rolled over, and surprised himself by falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.
There was a message waiting for Longarm when he came downstairs the next morning. The clerk called his name and held up a piece of paper as Longarm started across the lobby.
Longarm went over to the desk, and the man behind it said, “I was about to send a boy up to your room with this, Marshal. It was just delivered a moment ago.”
“Thanks.” Longarm took the message and dropped a coin onto the counter. The coin disappeared with amazing alacrity. Longarm unfolded the paper and read:
MARSHAL LONG, PLEASE MEET ME AT THE RACETRACK SOMETIME THIS MORNING. YRS TRULY, MILES PADGETT.
Longarm frowned. What did the senator want with him? Although the message had been phrased as a request, Longarm knew it was more in the nature of a command. He sighed, then brightened a little. He had woken up this morning with a nebulous plan in his head, and a visit to the racetrack would fit right in with what he had in mind. In fact, this might work out for the best.
He folded the paper again and slipped it into his vest pocket, then nodded his thanks once more to the clerk before heading for the dining room. He wasn’t going to drop everything and rush out to the track just because Padgett had requested his presence. First he wanted some breakfast, and then there were a few more errands he needed to run. He wasn’t sure what Padgett wanted, but he planned to cooperate with the senator as much as possible … within reason. When you came right down to it, though, Padgett wasn’t Longarm’s boss, not by any stretch of the imagination.
Three cups of strong coffee, a stack of flapjacks swimming in syrup and melted butter, half a dozen thick strips of bacon, and a mound of scrambled eggs later, Longarm felt almost like a new man.
He left the hotel and headed for the Western Union office.
The senator’s rangy blood bay—Caesar, Longarm remembered the horse was called—was loping easily around the track when Longarm arrived. Padgett was leaning against the railing around the track, watching the horse exercise. He turned and lifted a hand in greeting as Longarm called, “Good morning, Senator.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” Padgett’s face was set in a concerned frown. “I heard about the trouble you had at the hotel yesterday.”
Longarm grimaced. The story of the murders hadn’t been in the newspaper this morning, other than the fact that there had been an unspecified disturbance at the hotel. Bishop had promised to try to keep it quiet, and Longarm had thought the local badge had been successful in that effort.
“Pardon my asking, Senator, but what exactly have you heard?”
“About the murders of your fellow lawmen and the theft of some sort of valuable evidence. I’m not completely clear on that part, but I’m hoping you’ll shed some light on the subject.”
“How did you hear about it?”
Padgett waved away the question. “I have my sources. Well, Marshal?”
Longarm drew a deep breath that, given the surroundings, inevitably smelled a little like horseshit. He said, “Begging your pardon again, Senator, but I’m afraid it’s not any of your damned business.”
The politician’s cheeks grew even more florid than usual, and for a second Longarm worried that he might have a stroke right then and there. Then Padgett’s features relaxed slightly, and a moment later he even chuckled. “Sorry, Marshal,” he said. “It’s just that I’m not accustomed to being spoken to in that manner. But I must say, I rather admire it. You’re right, of course. This matter has to do with official business of the United States marshal’s office, not the Senate. I’m pretty much a civilian where you’re concerned.”
“Well, maybe not quite the same as a civilian,” said Longarm. There was no point in going out of his way right now to antagonize the man. “I can tell you that what you heard is pretty much right. Three deputy marshals were killed yesterday afternoon, and all four of us were here in Albuquerque on a case. We were supposed to go back to Denver yesterday, like I said in the clubhouse. Now I’m sort of at loose ends.”
“But you’re going to pursue the killers, aren’t you?”
Longarm nodded. “I reckon so. I’m waiting for official word from Billy Vail, though.”
“It sounds like a terrible, terrible tragedy,” Padgett said with a shake of his head. “Did any of the dead men have families?”
Longarm frowned. He didn’t know—and that just made him feel worse about the situation. “If they did, Marshal Vail will contact them and break the bad news.”
“Terrible,” Padgett said again. He sighed. “But life must go on, I suppose.” He gestured toward the track. “What do you think of Caesar this morning?”
Longarm looked at the horse and saw that it was running smoothly and easily along the track. “Same as yesterday. That’s a fine-looking animal you’ve got there, Senator.”
“I think so too. I have to admit, though, I was certainly disappointed in the outcome of the race. Perhaps we’ll do better in El Paso.”
“When are you leaving?” asked Longarm, thinking of the Cassidy sisters, among other things. It would be nice to see Janice and Julie again. He felt a stirring inside him at the memory of what the brazen Janice had done to him in the clubhouse the day before.
“The southbound train will be here tonight, and we’ll get into El Paso first thing in the morning. The race is scheduled for three days from now, so Cy will have time to get himself and Caesar accustomed to the course.” Padgett nodded toward the track as horse and rider swept by once again. “I wanted Caesar to have a little exercise this morning before he’s taken back to the stable and then loaded onto a train car tonight.”
Longarm nodded. “Good idea. Wouldn’t want him to stiffen up.”
Padgett turned to rest his arms on the fence as he leaned on it again. “Well, I appreciate you coming out here, Marshal,” he said as Longarm joined him at the fence. “I just wanted to find out the truth of the rumors I’d heard. Is there anything I can do to help you in your investigation?”
“Can’t think of a thing, Senator, but I’m much obliged that you asked.” Longarm turned his head toward the grandstand and saw a man standing underneath the benches, at the edge of the shadow cast by the grandstand. Even though it wasn’t yet noon, the sun was high enough in the sky, and bright enough, so that the line between light and shadow was a sharply defined border. Longarm couldn’t see the face of the man standing there except as a dim blur.
But he could sure as hell see the gun in the man’s hand as it rose.
“Get down!” Longarm yelled as he threw himself at Padgett. His left hand caught hold of the politician’s arm and hauled him roughly to the side. At the same time, Longarm’s right hand was flashing across his body to the butt of the Colt in the cross-draw rig. He went to one knee as he gave Padgett a hard shove that sent the startled senator sprawling on his ass. Longarm heard the crack of a gun, and splinters leaped from the wooden railing above his head as a bullet chewed a hunk from it.